I’m reading the book The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love, by Kristen Kimball. This woman has gotten into farming way beyond what I have, but periodically she stops to explain something I’m already well-versed in. I admit that feels pretty good. I want to feel like I’m growing and changing as a person in this farming experience, despite the fact that I naively got into it thinking it was mostly for the kids.
When the author mentioned the elastrator in her book, I knew I was in good company. I even sort of felt, you know, like official and all that. Every so often I get reminders that yes, I’m a farmer. Sometimes it’s when I have some nugget of knowledge about garlic bulbils or goat cheese processing that makes city folk gasp in amazement. At other times, it’s when I say something that makes people wonder how far I’ve gone off the deep end. My elastrator knowledge put me in the latter category.
A fellow grad student was lamenting the upcoming neutering and subsequent vet bill for her golden retriever. As we sat at our desks, side by side, plugging away at our computers, I suggested she just let me do it. It would only cost her the price of a rubber band, and I’d throw that in for free.
Still focused on my computer, I told her how easy castration is with the elastrator. Just slip the band over the four collapsed metal prongs, widen it out with the hand lever, slip it over the testicles as you lace them through, release, and viola!
Silence.
I looked over to see two faces, hers and the office mate’s beyond, searching me like they were still trying to figure out if I was joking or if they’d just discovered what a sick individual I really am.
“What?” I said with honesty.
That gave them their answer.
They quickly fixed their eyes rigidly on their computers, breathed deeply and calculated what to say.
The dog owner broke the silence. “That can’t be sanitary. And besides, how would you even anesthetize him?”
Pshaw! That’s easy! No anesthesia necessary. It’s a slow, painless process. The animal has no idea. In fact, the sheep just run off and play after getting banded. We do the same to their tails. You see, the band cuts off circulation. The testicles just wither up and fall off in a few weeks. The kids get a kick out of it when they find them in the fields.
Less inconspicuously, both women grabbed their stomachs, eyes wide with alarm and disgust.
“Whaaaaat?!” I said defending standard farming procedures.
The other friend exclaimed, “HOW can you do that to sweet innocent babies?!”
Easy, I said.
A farm full of adult male animals is a slew of problems waiting to happen. After having a Jack on the farm, I understand the potency of calling someone “a real jackass.” Roosters, Billy goats, rams, and jacks will fight, knock down fences, intentionally hurt young animals, and pee on themselves if there’s a female nearby they want to impress. Billy goats spray their own faces. Nice,huh? Maybe they’re really out to demonstrate flexibility, who knows? I recommend when you go for goat meat, choose the skinless variety.
When my boys learned that the daddy sheep had to be removed from the lambing field so he wouldn’t kill his offspring, they were shocked and hurt. But, that’s nature. The mama has the genetic disposition to want the lamb, and care for it at any cost. The ram hates the competition and is suspicious of the newcomer, wondering where the heck he came from anyway.
The ounce of one elastrator band is worth many pounds of cure. In fact, wethers (neutered goats and rams) pack on a few extra, which means more meat per animal. Plus, they become sweet, gentle, and will lovingly befriend the newborns frolicking in the fields. I’d say having their manhood squeezed off of them brings a marked improvement in disposition, not to mention civility.
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| A mama with two females and a male (for the time being). |
So yea, after being on my farm seven full years, I can say that I have an elastrator, and will use it with supreme( ball handling) skill. My friends aren’t as alarmed at my understanding and know how when it comes to ear tagging, but then again, my friends have pierced ears.
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