We bought a cow today. Well, half of a cow. Half of a dead cow—in the form of 450 pounds of meat. Being the sick puppy that I am, I named our half a dead cow Herbert.
We had to drive to Kansas (otherwise known as Falcon to us citified Colorado Springians) to pick up Herbert. The boys were somewhat fascinated and horrified at the prospect of bringing home half a cow in our family van. Monkey insisted that he did not want half a cow, and Chunky was adamant that we get the front half of the cow. Who knows why? Better looking?
As it turns out, both boys fell asleep on the way out to the Great Plains, and only Monkey woke up for the purchasing and loading of Herbert. I wish I could have slept through the process like Chunky did. I’m a bit sensitive to smells, and the minute I walked into the what-do-you-call-it—butchershop/pre-fab garage—I knew I couldn’t stay to watch the details. It seems Herbert’s cousin had recently shared in Herbert’s fate. That’s right, fresh hamburger anyone?
In case anyone is thinking that Herbert was one of those cows who “fell off the truck,” rest assured that he was in fact a pampered bovine, even earning the term organic upon his death.
We drove back to the Springs with Herbert in the trunk and ran through Wendy’s because it was late, and Herbert was still frozen. Once we got home, Kory faced the prospect of cramming Herbert into our freezer in the garage. Herbert didn’t fit. We stuffed paper-wrapped T-bones and tip roasts into the nooks and crannies of our indoor fridges and then called some friends. When their answering machine picked up, I whispered, “I need to know if you have a large amount of freezer space, and I need you not to ask any questions.”
What’s the sense in having friends if you can’t mess with them once in awhile?
So now Herbert rests in various locations throughout our city. Half of him went to live with our friends, the Woodhouses. I can’t imagine a warmer and kinder family for Herbert, or rather, that half of him. Some of him is just a mile or so down the road with our friends, the Pintos. I wonder if they’ll mind if we get a craving for sirloin in the middle of the night and pop on over to visit old Herb?
And of course, we have a couple freezers full and a few bits thawing here. The boys quickly overcame their trepidation regarding the unusual way in which Herbert came to join our family. They are now quite eager to eat him. Anybody have any good beef recipes?
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