2012 Brought To You By The Letter ‘B’

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B is for Beef.

B is for Beefy Beef.

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B is for Bitter cold. We lost some key water pipes during the terrible freeze of 2012.

the hay must roll on

B is for Barriers.

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B is for Bolt. Those were amazing bolts. Holds cows in. Easy to install. I love them!
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B is for Bows.
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B is for Bushy. Our grass is getting better each year. All cows eat grass.
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B is for Bad. Bad Zélie, it’s the ol’ hook-n-eye on the door for you!

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B is for Belly.
GrayCute

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B is for Business cards
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B is for Boxes. New packaging! Cute box! Beef direct!

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B is for Bad Mittens. A piece of art at the Toulouse airport that moved us while waiting for Kevin to arrive.
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B is for Bad Arse. When Kevin hops in the pelle, just step aside.

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B is for Bug. Old Siamese who cuddles like none other.
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B is for Bonkers. Michael does his punning rendition of the pied piper using a veau pied.

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B is for Bozo. Our third child is a clown. Laughter and giggles all around.
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B is for Burp. Our third child would like you to heed her advice.

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B is for Beautiful. Lucy is developing into a beautiful young lady.
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B is for Big Help. New friends came for a visit and helped out.
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B is for Big bunch.
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B is for Bull. Gremlin has found his special purpose.

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B is for Balls. Not Gremlin’s Balls. Gwar’s balls. Our first steer. ( I totally said that out loud. Probably should cut this )
He has some balls

B is for Bye-Bye Mirandaise. No more white cows. We are black and rouge and grass all over.

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B is for Basketball.
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B is for Big Man on Campus.
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B is for Bigger Herd.
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B is for Blech. Lucerne and “special starter goop.”
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B is for Boo!
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Here’s hoping 2013 brings better beef, bright sunshine and big smiles. Cheers to you and your mates/friends/copaings!!

Out Of Back Burners

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It’s been one of those weeks with all projects in need of action. Not much could be pushed to the back burner of next week.

Our Christmas roasts got into good hands. The “good cuts” of our latest offering are better than good. We’re pleased with how things are tasting, but still room for refinement. Making great tasting beef is like making cheese and wine in that it takes time. It takes patience. But unlike cheese and wine, you can’t sample a bit along the way to see how it’s all going. You need to wait, research, plan and experiment with each carcass. When we taste our beef and it’s better than good, it’s an amazing feeling. We love being able to share this with all those people who remember what beef used to taste like.

Thankfully we have an old Siamese who knows just the right treatment for long, hard weeks.

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80’s: The Untold Story { Don’t Worry, It’s Plastic }

I occupied all day spending our Christmas budget on four well behaved children ( yes, I checked my list twice ). Again with the 80’s cd playing on full volume, I drove thirty minutes to the big city to catch some bargains for the cubes to be placed under the tree. Thankfully we have only two members of the family who are old enough to hold Christmas against us at future family reunions. The other two will be happy to get a wrapped anything and some chocolate in the stocking. It’s nice to have the flexibilty to get Otto a microscope while Zelie gets a potato head. After the seventh shop, you see they don’t have ” A Mall” in our neck of the woods, so after the seventh shop which means parking, un-carseating infant, shopping, price tag shock, re-carseating infant ( let me tell you, she would prefer to scream and plank than sit in that damn seat ) so after this, I turn the car on and Cameo starts playing. Oh and I’m thrilled with my thoughts quickly tunneled into ” now what material was used in Cameo’s codpiece?” And the word “codpiece” is very odd. I think it’s plastic. More importantly, you need to appreciate the timeless load that is Cameo.

After Cameo, Mr. McFerrin starts blabbing about how I shouldn’t worry and instead I should be happy. Yes, McFerrin, I worry about a lot of things. I worry about the cows getting out. I worry about my kids education. I worry about my husband working with cows with big horns. I worry about my Siamese cat that is not too skinny, but might be. I worry that Tosca is too fat. I worry that Michael might wear that mansie-onsie again. Look, there are lots of things to worry about, but I listened to Bobby ( can I call you Bobby? ) and I let it all go. I said, “yeah, don’t worry, me. Be happy. ” It started to work. Suddenly, I was worrying about nothing yet occupied with the next moves on our workload. I felt empowered. The lyrics say : No cash? No girl? Don’t worry be happy. Your rent is late? They gonna sue your ass? Don’t worry be happy. Great lyrics, man. My appreciation for Bobby was heightened by Cameo. If I heard Bobby first, I’d be all ” dude, you don’t even know. you have kids? you starting a farm? no, so how ’bout I give you MY number and you call me when you need some yummy beef.” Yet, I suppose on first listen, it might actually be a good song. In the 80’s I was happy. In the 00’s I am also happy. Perhaps Bob ( can I call you Bob? ) had something to do with it.