Growing up with the County Cow F*cker

I remember my first day of grade 9, sitting in Geography class on the third floor of North Lambton Secondary School. The teacher asked us to introduce ourselves and share what our parents do for a living. “I’m Katelyn, my Mom is an accountant and my Dad….he breeds cows”. My cousin, Dan, was in my class. He knows Dad very well; it’s safe to say only he and a few other farmers in the room actually knew what that meant.

Dad’s occupation has been a popular topic of conversation many times. I have had to explain EXACTLY what my Dad does many many times. When I say, “he breeds cows” the most common response is “...so he’s a farmer.” If I can’t be bothered with explaining it, I just nod and smile in agreeance. But no, not exactly a farmer. And not really a farmer at all. More like he travels down gravel roads, hopping from cattle farm to cattle farm.

The looks and responses from people get better and better! We sometimes purposely bring this up in conversation with city slickers that we feel might need a little education. Like telling people that Jersey cows produce chocolate milk.

“You can artificially get a cow pregnant...huh?”

Artificial Insemination Technician (AI for short) is technically what you would call him. But that is gibberish to most people outside the farming industry. So if I REALLY don’t want to engage in conversation with someone who asks me what my Dad does, I tell them exactly that - “he’s a livestock AI technician”. Conversation over.

How exactly do you artificially inseminate a cow, you ask?

In simplest terms: You go shoulder deep in a cow's butt, yes butt, you heard me. (Specifically LEFT shoulder deep if you are Brad Wilson), guide a rather lengthy but sleek rod through the uterus and pull the trigger - ejecting a couple swimmers into the baby maker. Yes, I have seen this many times and yes I once gave it a try. And yes, so has Amy. You may remember Twitter series Day in the life of a County Cow F*cker circa 2012. The summer Amy worked with Dad as Assistant to the County Cow F*cker. That could likely be it’s own blog.

What happens upon arrival at the farm you ask? First you hope like hell the farmer tied up the cow (or cows) that need to be done, grab some semen (the farmers will even request a specific semen from the latest catalog - you should see this crisp, glossy booklet, it's fascinating), and then gets the deed done. Some farms have one cow, some might have 25. He then checks off the ‘To Do’ list, disinfects his boots, says goodbye to the future cow mommas and he is back on the road to the next farm. Believe it or not, he might even come back the next day to do the same cow AGAIN.

Now that you have a better understanding of what he does, let us dive into growing up with this guy. As youngsters, Amy and I loved hopping in the truck with him for a day of ‘work’. He was just happy to have someone to pass the time with while driving. He puts a lot of kilometers on driving around farm to farm. I’m sure we asked a million and one questions about stupid shit. We knew all the local farmers, got to pet all the farm doggos and kitties. We even got to feed baby cows! We LOVED collecting fresh eggs at Starlyte Farms; Farmer Basil knew to leave them for us. We tested out many swing sets or made our own jungle gyms to pass the time when Dad was in the barn. Sometimes getting stuck upside down or putting your tooth through your lip. We were proficient in cussing by a young age because of hanging out in some barns...or maybe it was just from hanging out with Dad. We have seen many Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition posters plastered across milk rooms and offices. Other times, we wouldn’t even get out of the truck because we were terrified of a dog. Or sometimes we got a little too close and had to head to the hospital with a dog bite (thanks for the popsicles Mrs. Gordon). Don’t get me wrong, we were somewhat useful at finding cows in free stall barns or just holding the ‘To Do’ list of cow’s and instructing Dad which one to breed next or picking up semen straws and being absolutely clueless as to what the fuck we were holding.

Working with Dad also meant lunch with Dad! Usually some little diner or a quick grab like pizza and subs. The best part came when he had to stop for gas, which was pretty well daily... we always got a treat. A chocolate bar and chocolate milk were a part of our daily diet. Safe to say my addiction to sweets started at a young age. When you ‘worked’ with Dad, you were with him for the day. This also meant heading to the baseball diamond for practice with him after the cows were done. Or sometimes we would even have to head back out after if a farmer requested a late breeding. Yes, that is a thing. Timing is everything, people.

I might have misquoted Dad earlier. He is indeed a farmer now. He is still the County Cow F*cker, but he also went back to his roots and bought a racehorse nearly a decade ago. That racehorse turned into another racehorse and the snowball effect continued. Not his first horse, but Twilight helped build the farm that he and Mom have today. Google helped him breed his first horse and now he has his very own Standardbred HERD. From broodmares to cutie little speedsters that he sells so that they can become champions on the track. He sometimes even keeps them to race as his own. Which we don’t hate, because it is way more fun to watch a horse race when it’s your OWN horse that is racing!

Looking back, he probably could have done without all the pit stops we needed to pop a squat or drop a deuce in the bucket down a sideroad. He definitely could have gone without paying us to fill out his breeding slips (25 cents per slip sounds familiar), but we certainly couldn’t imagine our childhood without these adventures! Here’s to Brad Wilson probably never retiring as the County Cow F*cker.

- Kate with lots of memories from Amy