Every farm has that one animal…
The one that makes you question your sanity, double-check every gate, and wonder if they’re secretly plotting against you. For us, that steer was Sir Loin. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t aggressive. He was just creatively naughty. If there was trouble to be found, he’d find it. If there wasn’t any trouble, he’d invent some.
Somehow, he learned that the little chains hanging from the barn fans actually did something. More than once I’d walk into the barn wondering why it felt like a wind tunnel in the middle of January, only to find every fan happily spinning while Sir Loin stood nearby chewing his cud with the innocent expression of a five year old caught with cookie crumbs on his face. “Who, me?”
Then there were the lights. On. Off. On again. Off. I’m still not convinced he wasn’t doing it simply because he knew it drove me crazy. Sir Loin had an uncanny ability to figure out exactly what would get under my skin. He’d walk over to something sitting perfectly where it belonged, give it a deliberate shove with his nose, and knock it onto the ground. Then he’d immediately look at me, not at the object, at me waiting to see what I’d do. I’d roll my eyes, let out a dramatic sigh, walk over, and put it back where it belonged. The moment I turned my back over it went again. Then he’d just stand there with his ears perked forward, staring at me as if he were waiting for the next round of our little game. I’m convinced he wasn’t trying to be destructive. He simply found my exasperation entertaining. Like a small child learning from cause and effect. That steer was equal parts lovable and rotten at the same time.
He also had an uncanny talent for finding things he absolutely should not eat. Plastic bags were apparently a delicacy. Leave one unattended for thirty seconds and suddenly you’d hear that unmistakable crinkling sound, followed by me sprinting across the barn yelling, “Sir Loin! Drop it!” He never dropped it. He simply chewed faster. I swear he only wanted it because he wasn’t supposed to have it.
He loved banana peels. That bovine could smell a banana from three counties away. The second someone started peeling one, he’d appear out of nowhere like he’d been summoned by magic. He’d stretch his nose as far as physics would allow and stare at you with those big brown eyes until you surrendered the peel. Then, with that ridiculous go-go-gadget tongue, he’d slurp it up and savor every bite. Mission accomplished.
While he loved banana’s, pizza was his true love. Once a month, on a Friday our homeschool group met at Pizza Hut for the all you can eat buffet. The kids all knew Sir Loin and had heard plenty of stories about his garbage disposal approach to eating, so they happily saved their pizza crusts for their favorite steer.
I’d collect everyone’s leftovers in one of those giant plastic cheese ball tubs, the kind big enough to feed a small army, and by the end of lunch, it would be filled to the brim with pizza crusts and uneaten pizza slices. Back at the farm, Sir Loin knew exactly what that tub meant. I’d set it down, grab my phone, and record him happily devouring his pizza feast while the rest of the Dexter herd stood nearby watching him like he’d completely lost his mind. Most cattle get excited over fresh hay or a bucket of grain. Sir Loin? He’d choose cold Pizza Hut crusts every single time. Those videos never failed to make people laugh.
Despite all the headaches and his endless antics, everyone loved Sir Loin. He made even the most ordinary chores memorable. You never knew what you’d find when you walked into the barn. Fans running? Lights on? Feed buckets knocked over? Missing lunch? If Sir Loin was around, anything was possible. Looking back, I don’t think he was trying to make life difficult. I think he honestly believed the farm existed solely for his entertainment. And judging by all the stories he left us with he might have been right.
About the Author
Kimberly Jepsen is the heart behind MooShine Ridge in Vinita, Oklahoma, where she and her husband, Kevin, have been raising dual-purpose Dexter cows since 2015. Their little farm store is a labor of love, offering Dexter beef, raw milk, and artisan cheeses made from their own cows. Kimberly has a deep passion for the Dexter breed and loves nothing more than sharing what she’s learned over the years whether it’s guiding fellow farmers, helping newcomers discover the joys of small-scale farming, or simply introducing people to the rich, creamy flavors of her handcrafted cheeses. For her, farming isn’t just a business, it’s a way to nurture animals, the land, and the community she cares about. https://mooshineridge.com/
