Ribeye...

I woke today with an exhaustive list of things I needed to accomplish. After getting the kids off to school and cleaning up the morning mess, I grabbed my purse, my list and my car keys.  As I headed for the garage, in walked Wade. 

"I need your help shopping," he said to me. Hmmm, I thought, this is a strange request coming from a man who does not shop.

 "I really need your help today picking out a cow," he continued.  

This was not on my list.  I said it out loud, "I've a lot to get done today before the kids get home and helping you pick out a cow is not on that list."

"Oh, come on. We'll have fun together. I really need your help and Dr. Tryon is waiting," he persisted. 

With our deep freezer almost empty of our previous cow, T-bone, Wade has been busy scouting the best options for more beef.  Our vet, Dr. Tryon, also raises his own beef and is quite savvy about the best breeds for the best price. He's become my husband's beef mentor, if you can imagine that. Together, they've been working out the best deal for getting another cow. Today, apparently, was "the" day.

I put my own list aside and held up my little white flag. "Ok, I'll go." But, as I jumped in the truck, my husband asked why I wasn't wearing my boots.  "It's 110 degrees, for one, and two, I always wear flip flops. Why would I need to wear boots?"

"Because after you help me pick out the cow, we'll need to load it in the trailer, " he says, like I'm his brother. "We'll just link our arms together, get behind the cow and push it into the trailer." I'm not sure how we ended up together and I do love him, but there's no way I'm linking arms and hoisting a small heifer into a horse trailer. Boots or no boots. 

We made it to our vet's house and walked out back where the cows were. "Isn't this romantic?" He asked as I shooed the flies away and kicked the dirt off the tops of my flip flops. I waived my little flag again as Dr. Tryon came out and escorted us into the cow pen. There were about 8 cows to choose from. Two immediately greeted us, licked us and waited for food. The other cows remained in the far side of the pen and made no attempt to come closer.  Our vet explained the different breeding, the different colors, sizes and what-not. I immediately asked if he had a mean cow. "Do you have one that doesn't like people or just isn't very nice?" It is my logic that tells me it's much easier to eat a cow that really doesn't enjoy life very much.

After listening to his explanations about each cow, which apart from their coloring, all really looked the same, I asked our vet which cow he'd choose if he were us. He turned and pointed to the young steer that had greeted us as we entered. My husband echoed the vet's choice, while I stood in disbelief. "Oh, great, we're getting the cow that licked us like a dog when we walked in? That's not exactly the mean cow I was looking for. I thought I came along to help pick the cow." I'm not sure anyone was listening because they all walked right over to the little black steer, standing by the gate.

The poor cow hopped right into the trailer and my husband drove away with a big grin on his face, thrilled with his new cow, Ribeye.