Why would it matter?

So the hereford cows make you the most money, but you only keep angus replacements?

Ok Tom D! I. Am. Going. To. Go. Slow. For. You. So. That. You. Understand. If. I. Keep. The. Baldies. I. Loose. My. Heterosis.

Jeremiahjohnson wrote:

Ok Tom D! I. Am. Going. To. Go. Slow. For. You. So. That. You. Understand. If. I. Keep. The. Baldies. I. Loose. My. Heterosis.

if you had baldies to keep , you would actually KEEP the key component of useful heterosis...

#1 You are comparing apples and oranges so stop looking at the weight. The crossbred calves are from the sounds of it a termial animal for you and the straight bred calves are replacement stock. They should be different.

#2 Nothing is as good ar bad as it first appears. In Miles City tues. 644# steers brought $141.50 or $939.56 bucks a head. 552# steers brought $155.00 or $855.60 bucks a head. Those big steers weighted 112# more and brought $83.90 more than the 5 weight steers but they only got .75 cents a pound for that 112#s. A little more than weight up cow price.

#3 $84 bucks a head is nothing to sneeze at but it ain't free. Good but not free no matter what that college Prof. told you. You biggest cost as I see it is a shortened life of your cow. It's just harder on a cow to raise that big calf. Draw down on the cow means going into winter thinner so she will take more feed. Those big calves eat more etc.

#4 No one here is opposed to crossbreeding. BobH from Idaho does it as good as anyone I know.

#5 Nothing is free. Not even that smokin hot trophy wife of yours and I don't really think anyone here is jealous. We all have our smokin hot wives and we all know the cost/benifts of having them and someday you will too.

Jack in the vicinity of my wonderful, forgiving, patient, loving, trophy wife.

It just works and that is why we do it. Free might not of been the optimum choice of words to use, I agree. There is just a huge advantage to crossing those straight blacks with Herefords at our place and the rather inexpensive purchase price of the bulls and the huge weight advantage it just works.

In the vicinity of feeling that nothing comes free!!!

jeremiah baby, your words look and sound like dog barf when they hit the page, what have you been eating out there on the range while shipping? DV Not really wondering much about the outcome of your phony future on the planet

Tom D wrote:

Simple is as simple does, Forrest.

TD, seeing the Forrest through the trees.

My momma always said, "Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

Jeremiahjohnson wrote:

It just works and that is why we do it. Free might not of been the optimum choice of words to use, I agree. There is just a huge advantage to crossing those straight blacks with Herefords at our place and the rather inexpensive purchase price of the bulls and the huge weight advantage it just works.

In the vicinity of feeling that nothing comes free!!!

So Jeremiah. Do you have White face cows and use a black bull, or do you have Black cows and use a white face bull. You seem to be confused with your own story Or are you making it up as you go along. Or is this just you OTIMUMIZING your story. In the end you appear to be Stuffed fuller of crap then the Christmas Goose

Governor McNamee,
Why don't you invite WT and me down to one of your boring eastern Montana brandings? We would be glad to poke you around enough to keep you from falling asleep on your Hancocks. Also, you could get the paint pony girls there so we could give them some pointers on teasing. Especially that Sarah, she couldn't tease her way out of a paper bag. WT heard a rumor that all you guys "neighbor" real good - so good that you don't have much to do except fish, rope & cart your kids around to rodeos. Also we were hoping you would have your buddy Jeremiah the hound dog. We'd come especially for him.

DV in the vicinity of trying to get WT in trouble, but one thing we both agree on is we don't care about linebreeding, outcrossing, undercrossing, overcrossing, pcc-crossing, pc-crossing and all the rest of the crossings. I think both of us both sell calves from the best programs we know about - our own.

DV,
JJ`s calves are the result of a double cross...

Dennis Voss wrote:

Governor McNamee,
Why don't you invite WT and me down to one of your boring eastern Montana brandings? We would be glad to poke you around enough to keep you from falling asleep on your Hancocks. Also, you could get the paint pony girls there so we could give them some pointers on teasing. Especially that Sarah, she couldn't tease her way out of a paper bag. WT heard a rumor that all you guys "neighbor" real good - so good that you don't have much to do except fish, rope & cart your kids around to rodeos. Also we were hoping you would have your buddy Jeremiah the hound dog. We'd come especially for him.

DV in the vicinity of trying to get WT in trouble, but one thing we both agree on is we don't care about linebreeding, outcrossing, undercrossing, overcrossing, pcc-crossing, pc-crossing and all the rest of the crossings. I think both of us both sell calves from the best programs we know about - our own.

Dennis Voss, You and WT are cordially invite along with Joe and Tom of course to any event (branding, weaning, puttin bulls out, cat cuttin, rat killin, snake stompin,etc.) that we are now having or will have anytime in the future. Please RSVP so I can tell the cook, trophy wife Jean. I'll invite Jeremiah Weed but you may have to drive him as I not sure he is old enough to drive. Better not bring his smokin hot trophy wife though. I'm sure she would be to much of a distraction for all us old farts and if I'm going to feed all you knotheads I'm damn sure going to get some work out of you all.

Jack in the vicinity of gettin nothing done with this crew but laughing til we bust. Sounds good to me.

My mom would never let me play with a rope more than two feet long, out of fear that I would accidentally hang myself, so I never learned how to lasso stuff. And we've already established that I'm not much of a horse whisperer. But I think I would be pretty good as the guy that sits on his ass, holding down calves and chewing on rocks.

Tom D wrote:

My mom would never let me play with a rope more than two feet long, out of fear that I would accidentally hang myself, so I never learned how to lasso stuff. And we've already established that I'm not much of a horse whisperer. But I think I would be pretty good as the guy that sits on his ass, holding down calves and chewing on rocks.

Well I never....Tom defeated, you could always just hold out a loop with one hand, and with a Duplex cookie in the other, get them to follow it into the loop Tom. Come on man, think, think, think. There is always a way.


Bootheel, not much of roper either

Hey Jeremiah Weed why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself. You kinda came in here like a yappin little dog so why don't you back up a little and tell us who you are.

Here's my guess. You are about 23-24 years old. You've been married less than two years. You've been out of college less than two years. You are either working on the family ranch or working on a ranch as a ranch hand and you've been there less than two years. How am I doing?

Jack still trying to figure out this Liver eatin Johnson fellar.

Jack McNamee wrote:

Hey Jeremiah Weed why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself. You kinda came in here like a yappin little dog so why don't you back up a little and tell us who you are.

Here's my guess. You are about 23-24 years old. You've been married less than two years. You've been out of college less than two years. You are either working on the family ranch or working on a ranch as a ranch hand and you've been there less than two years. How am I doing?

Jack still trying to figure out this Liver eatin Johnson fellar.

Ankle Biter all the way :cheers:Kick it like a football.

Weedy is more like 45 yrs. old, fat made in the head and the body type. ( only time he's had a wreck while driving was when he dropped a cookie on the floor board of his truck and he fished it out of the dirt, drove off the road and rolled his rig in the ditch) You can imagine what the sack of dog barf told his hot wife. Pillsbury Dough Boy Voss near the bridge over Cookie River

Dennis Voss wrote:

Weedy is more like 45 yrs. old, fat made in the head and the body type. ( only time he's had a wreck while driving was when he dropped a cookie on the floor board of his truck and he fished it out of the dirt, drove off the road and rolled his rig in the ditch) You can imagine what the sack of dog barf told his hot wife. Pillsbury Dough Boy Voss near the bridge over Cookie River

Whew! I glad you said 45 yrs.old. For a minute I thought you were talkin about me. Stupid cookies. I'm not sure about J Weed. He's had like six posts and he hasn't played the poor me card yet. I just think ole J Weed is real young and stuff plumb full of himself and I can relate to that at least thats the way I remember it. Time will tell but he hasn't whinned enough to be your guy but then everytime I come to this post I read the title and think YEA!

Jack wondering what does it really matter.

Dennis Voss wrote:

Weedy is more like 45 yrs. old, fat made in the head and the body type. ( only time he's had a wreck while driving was when he dropped a cookie on the floor board of his truck and he fished it out of the dirt, drove off the road and rolled his rig in the ditch) You can imagine what the sack of dog barf told his hot wife. Pillsbury Dough Boy Voss near the bridge over Cookie River

Here here! Dennis i can see him now at the doughnut shop with a hand full of those JELLY filled doughnuts and slober all over his shirt. I can see his shinny bald head lighting up the whole shop. 45 at least. Got a neighbor with one of those HOT wife's...... Sure glad she's his?

Jack McNamee wrote:

Dennis Voss wrote:

Weedy is more like 45 yrs. old, fat made in the head and the body type. ( only time he's had a wreck while driving was when he dropped a cookie on the floor board of his truck and he fished it out of the dirt, drove off the road and rolled his rig in the ditch) You can imagine what the sack of dog barf told his hot wife. Pillsbury Dough Boy Voss near the bridge over Cookie River

Whew! I glad you said 45 yrs.old. For a minute I thought you were talkin about me. Stupid cookies. I'm not sure about J Weed. He's had like six posts and he hasn't played the poor me card yet. I just think ole J Weed is real young and stuff plumb full of himself and I can relate to that at least thats the way I remember it. Time will tell but he hasn't whinned enough to be your guy but then everytime I come to this post I read the title and think YEA!

Jack wondering what does it really matter.

J Mac and DV, you guys want to start a pool? Let's all throw 20 bucks in, winner take all. I'm gonna guess right between you guys, I think Va J.J.'s about 35.

Va J.J., you sure are mouthy for a supposed pacifist, but what really confuses me is your apparent adversion to line breeding, haven't y'all been doin' that for quite a while now?

TD, in the vicinity of the Packer's bye week, with nothing better to do.

Count me in for $20. He's younger than thirty is my guess and I still say 23-24. Winner has to pay in person though.

Packers? I thought you were a Lions fan.

Jack either way I win.

Jack, I hear you with the "2 year syndrome"...I remember mine. When I graduated, I knew I was the smartest sob that farmed and was going to show all those old farts how it was really done. After a year and a half of being slapped in the face and kicked in the groin by reality, I figured out how ignorant I was/am and how steep my learning curve is(also began to wonder if there was a reason those PhDs weren't farmers and ranchers).

JJ may be a case of mouth overloading ass, but that doesn't specify an age. So I'm going with JJ being another MikeK alias!

RobertMac, in the vicinity of believing I'm a MikeK alias

Ain't it the truth Robert. I was going to light the world on fire but you know, somewhere along the line I just seemed to run out of matches. But I still really like that about the young. There are days that I would trade some of this experience for a little of that youthful exuberance so I hope J Weed is real and is young and will fight back a little and maybe we can siphone off some of his energy in return for some of our experience.

Jack Come on JWeed don't quite me now!

Jack McNamee wrote:

Ain't it the truth Robert. I was going to light the world on fire but you know, somewhere along the line I just seemed to run out of matches. But I still really like that about the young. There are days that I would trade some of this experience for a little of that youthful exuberance so I hope J Weed is real and is young and will fight back a little and maybe we can siphone off some of his energy in return for some of our experience.

Jack Come on JWeed don't quite me now!

Jack i am good for the bet. i can see JJ right now at the Doughnut shop with Jelly all over his face. And wondering where his Super hot Wife got off to. He won't be back, if he is it won't last long, Just a pretender not even a good bullshitter

Boys will be boys and youthful exuberance.

Around age 10, my dad got me one of those little badass compound bow beginner kits.

Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow.

Did you know that a 1955 40 horse Farmall tractor tire will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough sumbich.

That got boring, so being the 10 yr old Dukes of Hazard fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over the place.

One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and saw a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (Ether). A light bulb went off in my head. I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a controlled manner once pierced by my arrow. Lets face it, to a 10 yr old mouth-breather like myself, (Ether) really doesn't "sound" all that flammable.

So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles). My intention was to sprinkle a little bit around the (Ether) can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie, a 1 lb. pyrodex and 16 oz (Ether) should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker. You know what? I'm going back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it out on the stump too. Now I’m cookin'.

I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time frame, I turned to see my dad getting out of his truck... He just got home from work. OH SHOOT!

So help me God, it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a WTF look in his eyes.

I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of pyrodex and into the can. Oh wow!!!

When the shock wave hit, it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just my reflex jerk from 235 fricking decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering 1 ft above the ground as far as I could see. It was a low fog layer full of grasshoppers, spiders, and worms.

The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this: THE FRICKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE.

There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said "was." That sumbich got up and ran off.

So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my thundercats T-Shirt shredded, my dad is on the other side of the carport having what I can only assume is a Vietnam flashback:

“ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOU'RE BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. DAMN IT CEASE FIRE!!!"

His hat has blown off and is 30 ft behind him in the driveway. All windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 ft. over our backyard.

There is a Honda 185 3-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down now, touching the tires.

I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I don't know - I know I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out again, woke up later... repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR, and Dad screaming "Bring him back to life so I can kill him again!!!" Thanks Mom.

One thing for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again. Mom had been complaining about that thing for years and dad never did anything about it. You gotta give me credit for stepping up to the plate and taking care of business.

Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later.

I still have some sort of bone growth abnormality, either from the blast or the beating, or both.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery. But only under close supervision. It will teach you parental responsibility.

Jack McNamee wrote:

Boys will be boys and youthful exuberance.

Around age 10, my dad got me one of those little badass compound bow beginner kits.

Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow.

Did you know that a 1955 40 horse Farmall tractor tire will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough sumbich.

That got boring, so being the 10 yr old Dukes of Hazard fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over the place.

One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and saw a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (Ether). A light bulb went off in my head. I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a controlled manner once pierced by my arrow. Lets face it, to a 10 yr old mouth-breather like myself, (Ether) really doesn't "sound" all that flammable.

So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles). My intention was to sprinkle a little bit around the (Ether) can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie, a 1 lb. pyrodex and 16 oz (Ether) should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker. You know what? I'm going back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it out on the stump too. Now I’m cookin'.

I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time frame, I turned to see my dad getting out of his truck... He just got home from work. OH SHOOT!

So help me God, it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a WTF look in his eyes.

I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of pyrodex and into the can. Oh wow!!!

When the shock wave hit, it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just my reflex jerk from 235 fricking decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering 1 ft above the ground as far as I could see. It was a low fog layer full of grasshoppers, spiders, and worms.

The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this: THE FRICKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE.

There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said "was." That sumbich got up and ran off.

So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my thundercats T-Shirt shredded, my dad is on the other side of the carport having what I can only assume is a Vietnam flashback:

“ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOU'RE BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. DAMN IT CEASE FIRE!!!"

His hat has blown off and is 30 ft behind him in the driveway. All windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 ft. over our backyard.

There is a Honda 185 3-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down now, touching the tires.

I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I don't know - I know I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out again, woke up later... repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR, and Dad screaming "Bring him back to life so I can kill him again!!!" Thanks Mom.

One thing for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again. Mom had been complaining about that thing for years and dad never did anything about it. You gotta give me credit for stepping up to the plate and taking care of business.

Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later.

I still have some sort of bone growth abnormality, either from the blast or the beating, or both.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery. But only under close supervision. It will teach you parental responsibility.