Living on a farm has some perks. Sure, there are detractions too, some of the things I occasionally step in come to mind, but overall most of farm life is a positive thing. Take waking up time for instance, I don't need an alarm clock, for I have a Rick.
What is a Rick and why is he superior to the alarm on my phone? Well, Rick is a young Holstein steer. Last fall my boss wandered over to the Tri Cities in Washington and came home with a trailer load of bottle calves. Two of those bottle calves came to live in my barn, Rick and Morticia (Morty).
Morty is a regal and serene little heifer. When you approach the barn she arches her elegant neck and peers at you with her gorgeously lashed eyes. Morty never gets in hurry, respects your space, and her moos are soft and gentle.
Not so with Mr. Rick.
Between 6 and 7 AM every single day, a sound crashes into my consciousness that resembles hard braking tires combined with a goat in a trash compactor. Rick is incredibly serious about food. I suppose that is why we are such good pals, for I am more than fond of comestibles myself. That said, I think people would have me committed if I emitted half the sounds Rick does every morning when he lets me know that he is ready for breakfast.
Some days I let him bellow a bit before he gets his morning grain treat, I don't want him to think he has any power over me. That knowledge is never good for anyone to possess. His multiple gut originated screeching is actually quite impressive, so I don't want his ego to get too moosive.
Rick O'clock is also a twice daily thing. I can count on being summoned approximately twelve hours later. If something happens and I don't feed by 6PM in the evening, my ears can be guaranteed a symphony of absolute bovine disgust of deafening proportions.
Let's just say Rick wouldn't be afraid to speak to the manager.
And really, I have to admit it's rather cool that he cares so much. Not about me of course, although I do think he usually is genuinely happy to see me. Ah, who am I kidding, all he cares about is the hot pink bucket I carry, the bucket of molasses covered delights.
That's the thing about homesteading though, patterns must be maintained every single day, but there is a beauty and peace in completing the chores which accompany a homesteading life. They are honest, soul-fortifying tasks, and by the time I finish my morning and evening chores my brain is ready to begin and end the day. It's a resolve and settling thing.