What I've been thinking about:
1. Cows.
2. Yes, really.
There aren't many surprises at my age. Not that I'm tired of life or anything but I usually know how my days and weeks are going to pan out. And then Ivie asks me at Friday teatime if I want to go to a stock judging.
Those in the know will understand exactly what that is. Here's what I thought it was before I went.
You go to a farm where the local Young Farmers group has organised a lighthearted competition involving some animals, a judge and a few folk trying to guess what order he or she has ranked them in.
Now I realise that, while that's the general gist, the stakes are a bit higher. For a start, I'd forgotten how competitive those in farming can be (remember this blog?). I also didn't know that there would be prizes (more on this later).
The judging was at a dairy farm just a long the road from The Spittal. For once, this was true, rather than the vague notion of 'next door' which can mean a farm eight miles away. There were cars and pick-ups in every available space - I'm not usually a fan of personalised number plates but I am amused by COO and RAM on farm vehicles. As we walked to a big shed, Ivie pointed out other big sheds and I struggled to say anything relevant.
I was initially reluctant when Ivie suggested a look around but this is a very high tech dairy farm with robots that do the milking. (Not in a Metal Mickey kind of way, that would be weird.) Basically, each cow decides when she wants to be milked and wanders into a stand where spinning brushes wash her teats (yes, it did remind me of a car wash for nipples). A laser pinpoints where the 'suckers' go and the cow has a nice snack while the robot does the work.
After my tour, we talked to the judge (a distant cousin of Ivie's obviously) and somehow managed to skip the lengthy queue to pay our fivers and get a judging card. A fellow Fisher gave me her top tip (thank you, Lynn): "I always go for the eye lashes," then added that statistically a monkey would get 50% right.
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| Cue a stupid question from Giblin: "Are there 134 cows?!" |
When things were ready to kick off, I got myself ready in front of Ivie and his brother with pen in hand. What I wasn't prepared for was the cows being released untethered into the shed we were standing in. These beasts were HUGE and clearly used to human interaction. They trotted up and down, sometimes at speed and occasionally licked a sleeve. For classes 2-6, I stood behind Ivie and his brother, much happier to put some distance between the cows and my sleeves.
The only thing I know about stock judging is that animals with straight backs are good. I made a snap judgement based on that alone (forgetting all about their eyelashes) and jotted down my answers. I looked up, expecting everyone else to have done the same but there were people walking up and down with serious faces, others patting the cows to get them to turn around and some were even on their hunkers to get a better look at their teats (the cows', not their own).
At one point, a woman next to us said, "Turn round girls so we can see your arses," to which Ivie replied, "I'd get a slap for saying that!".
There were six classes of four cows, so 24 chances to get the same answer as the judge. For the first five classes, I got half of them right (beating both Ivie and his brother). I decided to really concentrate for the last class as there were hints I might be up for a prize. And you've guessed it. I got zero. Still, a 40% success rate when you know nothing ain't bad (although still worse than a monkey).
There was beer, burgers and chat to be had afterwards. And here is where I learned that I wasn't too bothered that I wouldn't be getting a prize. A friend's sister had been at a stock judging where she was presented with bull semen as a prize. Even I wouldn't be able to hide my surprise at that.
