People used to call me a big bull shipper

Back when I was a travelin' man, people used to call me a big bull shipper. At least that's what I thought they were saying. The reputation was well earned because I used to buy a lot of bulls every year for friends and customers. I worked bull sales all over the country as a ring man, and I was the announcer for a big video auction company for over 20 years. I suppose my friends figured that I might say something nice about their consignment and powerful bull battery if I was the one who bought the bulls to begin with. I bought truckloads of bulls for some of the biggest names in the business who I'm sure would not want their names associated with mine.

My friends and neighbors thought as long as I had to go to the sales anyway I might as well do something constructive and buy their bulls. There were other factors at work. Most of my friends are as tight as I am, and they didn’t want to spend the $12.99 Motel Six was charging for a room 20 to 30 years ago.

There’s also the fact that 10% of the general population are auction terrorphobics. Their hands get clammy, their eyes become glazed, and their bidding arm and hand are suddenly paralyzed. This is how you end up with a rancher who bought a Longhorn at an all breed bull sale instead of the Charolais he came for. Or a bull with a 112-pound birth weight instead of the heifer bull that was desired.

In my bull buying days things were much easier, and you didn’t have all these abbreviations and numbers cluttering up the sale catalog and clouding the mind. Stuff like  $W, %F, $G, $B, RE, CW, CEM, MARB and HDK are turning ranchers˛ into computer geeks. Forty years ago we were lucky to get a weaning weight, a sire, dam, four legs and a gear box that worked. Heck, the all breeds bull sale at San Francisco’s Cow Palace didn’t even demand a semen check on the sale bulls. In San Francisco I’m sure they thought it was discriminatory and sexist.

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