I Must Work In A China Shop

They say it's another day at the office - mine however is often full of recycled hay that is plastered on my arms, and occasionally on my head. The day started innocent enough, with spaying Missy the cat - a chair and whip had to be brought out to get her out of the kennel, but the cat whisperer that I am (...you rotten....would you like to know the real meaning behind catgut.....) I got Missy altered (sexually speaking that is, not her mind unfortunately). The next on the agenda was to sort out a jigsaw puzzle when a heifer with a calving issue came in - the breech calf turned out to be one of the two calves which rented the heifer's womb for the last 262 days. Then the boys came in - to get a check up to see if they can have a harem this coming breeding season. Before I get too personal with him, I usually like to introduce myself to Mr. Bull so he knows that it is a person behind him, and not a fly that needs to be kicked at. After feeling his sack o' nuts and measuring them (so that he can brag to the boys around the feeder), my arm is then inserted in the backdoor to assess his seminal vesicles (this is your word of the day - go ahead, use it in a sentence!). After this, a probe (looks like a rocket, and sometimes the bull will blast off) is put where my arm is removed from, and a slight tickle of electricity helps to bring out a sample into a little vial so that the little boys can be assessed to see if they can do the job. Quite a jolting experience one would think. Some people think this is cruel, but if done gently, I do detect a smile on the bull's face. One of the bulls I did today was a large Horned Hereford, and when the job was done, the bull was unplugged, and the rancher let the bull out...unfortunately, when he opened the head gate, the bull walked right through instead of backing out. He proceeded to walk towards the room where the microscope and umpteen dozen bottles of (expensive) medicine was...and my heart stopped. "Whoa, mister, where do you think you are going?" I asked, and I tried to get his attention before he made the final voyage into the room. Mr. Bull turned around, on a dime, and quietly walked by me and the machine which had just tickled his fancy, and walked back through the chute area and back onto his bus. Now, I would argue, if the procedure was that harrowing an experience for the bull, I do believe that Horned Hereford would have done more of a catastrophic event.
The real catastrophic event occurred when I tried to put Missy the cat back into her crate so her owner could take her home - now that was a hair raising ordeal. The bull was a pussycat compared to her.