I remember my first Beef Butchering like it was yesterday

When I was very young my father worked at a dairy (mechanic). Now and then he’d save back a bull calf and when it was weaned he’d bring it home to raise for the freezer. There was usually two growing, an older one and a younger one. When the big one was ready, mom would make an appointment. On the Appointed Day, the kill truck would come. We had just done a big apple juice pressing and there was a huge pile of dry apple mash for the steers to munch on. The kill truck pulled up close to the steers, and the man came out, always pleasant and polite and efficient. The steer dropped instantly and bled out minutes later. Then the truck would winch the steer out and make it easier to skin and gut. Mom would take the heart and liver right to the house where my grandmother waited to clean and package it. The two clean halves of beef, the red meat, white ligaments, and yellow fat swinging in the back of the box truck, is clearly ingrained in my 8yr old memories. The smell and sight of the process was not horrific or traumatic. It was a simple way of life. We had hand fed the steer daily since bringing him home. When he was younger and I went to the dairy on Saturday mornings, he’d suck on my hand. It was in that calf barn I first began to love cattle. I shall always be thankful that my parents gave me a simple raising.