The First Mr. Boo Story
This week, I’m off to Cayucos for a few days R and R before I get called out to a fire. In order to publish a timely column, I’m sending you one of my back-issue stories from March of 2015. This was the first Mr. Boo story. How was I to know this bull would become my star character?
Following the death of my Charolais herd sire named Ghost, I was faced with finding and buying a new bull. I looked online, but most breeders wanted serious money for their fine stock. I had no fault with their prices, I just couldn’t afford them. My cows aren’t purebred animals, but a collection of different breeds. Therefore, when I found a bull I could afford, I wasn’t concerned about him being an Angus/hereford cross.
This bull calf had been raised as a bottle-baby. His mother couldn’t be saved after suffering a uterine prolapse following the calf’s birth. However, I knew bottle-fed cattle have interesting personalities. They’re used to humans feeding them and are often demanding about someone paying attention to them.
He was originally named Eerieboo, because he was born near Halloween. As Sharon and I drove home with a bull in our trailer, this didn’t appeal to us as the proper name for a bull with personality. Before we got him home, he’d became Mr. Boo.
Our new herd sire was reared near the tiny community of Flournoy several miles west of Corning in northern California. Before we left his home ranch, we were warned about his habits. If it were necessary to work in the same field with him, we learned we’d need to make some adjustments. “Otherwise, he’s going to be right there and have his nose into everything you’re doing.”
However, for me to have a quiet and gentle bull, not at all mean, even inquisitive to the point of being a bother, didn’t concern me. I’d rather be forced to shut my bull in a corral 25 times than have to scramble up a fence even once because an angry animal took a run at me. I didn’t want my kids and grandkids to need to be afraid of our herd sire. Mr. Boo was destined to be a positive addition to our hilltop.
The old barn on my property had been getting some serious attention recently. We’d poured new foundations for a couple of places, rebuilt the walls above the foundation, covered the walls with sturdy wallboard, and even painted our work.
We’d rebuilt the southeast corner after pouring a new foundation. This wall was planned so the four foot wide wallboard would hit a stud in the middle as well as along each edge. That meant the studs needed to be on 24-inch centers. We left the southeast corner uncovered with only the bare studs standing as a wall.
The appropriate wallboard was eventually ready for installation. We started working on the north wall, cutting and fitting it together to cover the wall and match the roofline. Mr. Boo grazed high on the hill and left us alone for the first two hours. When he discovered we were working around the barn, as we were warned he would, here he came.
When Mr. Boo walked into the barn I had a piece of wallboard on sawhorses measuring and cutting it to fit. He stuck his face into mine so he could lick my cheek. When I swatted him away, he stepped behind me and turned around.
As he turned, his backside pushed the sawhorses over with a crash. Because he was now on the other side of me, he gave the back of my neck a wet and raspy swipe with his big tongue.
That was the final straw. It was going to be necessary to shut him away if we were going to get any work done. We pushed and prodded Mr. Boo into the corral on the east side of the barn. There’s no door there, but we stood a fence panel in the opening. That shut off access to us, and we could go back to work without having to push our bull away every few seconds.
He was content for about half an hour. Then he got bored. He could see us working through both the fence panel and the uncovered studs of the southeast corner. He wanted to be closer to all the activity and was determined to figure out how.
I saw motion out of the corner of my eye and looked toward the unfinished wall. Mr. Boo had his head and shoulders between the studs, pushing and squeezing himself through the small opening. His shoulders had apparently gone through with little effort so the front half was inside the barn.
He pushed hard with his back feet as he pulled with his front. With effort, and a squeak from the studs, he squeezed his belly through. His hips, being a bit narrower, followed the rest of him with no problem. With a look of supreme satisfaction, he stepped inside the barn. I could see he was pleased with himself. He was right where he intended to be.
As the father of three equally persistent little boys, I’ve seen the same look after they crawled out of a play pen or squeezed through a closed door. Boo was allowed to give me one last slobbery lick before I shut him safely behind a different gate.