Yep, I actually uttered those words recently. And I said them with all sincerity. I mean, really, when you find out a friend has a newly acquired herd of yaks, how can you not invite yourself over? Llamas and Brahma bulls and buffalo and camels are one thing. But yaks?! Who has yaks? Well, in fact, Bobby does.
And so today, it being a gorgeous spring day ripe for yak gawking, I drove over to Bobby’s house and found him and his two young daughters tending some chickens near their yak pasture. As we walked out, Bobby patiently indulged all my questions about yakdom.
It turns out they are very intelligent, pasture-friendly animals. They are more gentle on the land and more efficient eaters than cows. They can be pack animals, and if you bottle-feed them as babies, you might have one as a pet. Their meat and hides and fur are coveted. Although he has yet to sample a yak burger, Bobby has been told the meat is very lean. He’ll find out soon.
The herd is about a dozen strong at the moment, with seven females supposedly pregnant. Several males are currently off-site until it’s time for breeding. Then the studly yaks will be brought home for some carousing. By the time all the babies are born and all the boys and girls are mingling, he should have 21 head. This includes the baby that was born today minus the ornery one that was slaughtered a few days ago.
We had heard about the slaughter via Facebook. Naturally. One friend posted “…just watched a yak being shot and slaughtered right in front of me. Not something you can say every day. Blood, lots of blood.” Another posted in reply “I am so bummed I missed it – I never miss slaughterings!” These two women are better men than I.
The two young daughters, proudly handing me samples of yak fur from the ground, seemed nonchalant about the slaughter events. “We had to kill one,” said the 6-year-old. Indeed. Apparently the yak got uppity and intentionally busted through a fence. Bobby had a “bad experience with a bull once” and wisely doesn’t tolerate large livestock attempting to establish dominance. They now have yak meat being processed, a hide in the barn for inaugural tanning, and a yak head on an ant pile somewhere “over there” so that the ants can “clean it up.” I believe it was here that I felt entirely suburban. The kids asked several times to go visit the ant pile. Bobby wisely sized me up as a wussy and told his daughters they could go later. They are better men than I.
It was all quite surreal, hanging out in a pasture with a bunch of yaks grazing in the distance. Nice and calm and happy. Until the new mom got all territorial and charged us. That was exciting. Once we were safely on the other side of the electric fence, Bobby admitted he had made two mistakes. First, a seasoned yak farmer had told him not to go in the pasture for at least a week after the birth of a baby. It had been less than 24 hours. Second, Bobby didn’t have a big stick with him. Like many pack animals, it is important to establish authority with your yak. Bobby is the alpha yak. If you know Bobby, you already know this. Stickless, he successfully made some bold and menacing movements at the head-bobbing yak. I know I stopped in my tracks. But yes, a rap on the nose with a tree limb would have kept Momma from swinging her head around and following us to the fence.
I got to bring some of the yak fur home with me. It’s very soft and warm. I encouraged Bobby to sell his yak meat to a butcher in town so I can buy some. With any luck, we will have enough time to research what wine one serves with grilled yak.
The herd is about a dozen strong at the moment, with seven females supposedly pregnant. Several males are currently off-site until it’s time for breeding. Then the studly yaks will be brought home for some carousing. By the time all the babies are born and all the boys and girls are mingling, he should have 21 head. This includes the baby that was born today minus the ornery one that was slaughtered a few days ago.
We had heard about the slaughter via Facebook. Naturally. One friend posted “…just watched a yak being shot and slaughtered right in front of me. Not something you can say every day. Blood, lots of blood.” Another posted in reply “I am so bummed I missed it – I never miss slaughterings!” These two women are better men than I.
The two young daughters, proudly handing me samples of yak fur from the ground, seemed nonchalant about the slaughter events. “We had to kill one,” said the 6-year-old. Indeed. Apparently the yak got uppity and intentionally busted through a fence. Bobby had a “bad experience with a bull once” and wisely doesn’t tolerate large livestock attempting to establish dominance. They now have yak meat being processed, a hide in the barn for inaugural tanning, and a yak head on an ant pile somewhere “over there” so that the ants can “clean it up.” I believe it was here that I felt entirely suburban. The kids asked several times to go visit the ant pile. Bobby wisely sized me up as a wussy and told his daughters they could go later. They are better men than I.
It was all quite surreal, hanging out in a pasture with a bunch of yaks grazing in the distance. Nice and calm and happy. Until the new mom got all territorial and charged us. That was exciting. Once we were safely on the other side of the electric fence, Bobby admitted he had made two mistakes. First, a seasoned yak farmer had told him not to go in the pasture for at least a week after the birth of a baby. It had been less than 24 hours. Second, Bobby didn’t have a big stick with him. Like many pack animals, it is important to establish authority with your yak. Bobby is the alpha yak. If you know Bobby, you already know this. Stickless, he successfully made some bold and menacing movements at the head-bobbing yak. I know I stopped in my tracks. But yes, a rap on the nose with a tree limb would have kept Momma from swinging her head around and following us to the fence.
I got to bring some of the yak fur home with me. It’s very soft and warm. I encouraged Bobby to sell his yak meat to a butcher in town so I can buy some. With any luck, we will have enough time to research what wine one serves with grilled yak.
Natural suburbanite reaction to being charged by a yak: take a picture!
No comments:
Post a Comment