I am just going to say it: Nothing good comes of bored adolescent males, of any species.
Have you ever met a teenaged male with too much time on his hands that didn't find a way to get into trouble? Who didn't have just the most terrible ideas pop into his head when left to his own devices? Who knew the difference between "this is super fun" and "this might get me sent to freezer camp early"?
Because if you have met these adolescents who can deal well with boredom, I sure haven't.
No offense to the adolescent males out there (or former adolescent males) but I have never seen a collective group so very good at coming up with bad ideas. Whether the teenager is a steer, a rooster, a dog or yes, a human, the sheer number of terrible ideas that pop into their heads is astounding.
Like this young man. After a bout of bloat that set him behind, he got left at the main farm when the bigger steers were taken to summer pasture earlier this year. And so he has been stucking hanging out with Mae and Cody here at home. I get it--one is his mom and the other is a 34-year-old cranky horse, but wow--SO MANY BAD IDEAS.
-Running head first into a big fence post in the pasture to play a game of "fighting bull". It was probably fun when he was just gently butting it and jumping around but then he backed up and took a full speed run at the 10-inch, deep set corner post....and knocked himself out. I seriously thought he was dead. But the idiot got back up and DID IT AGAIN. Why?
-Blowing bubbles in the big water tank--oh the joy of sticking your head under water. I get that. But what I don't get is getting over excited and jumping halfway in and thus getting high centered and thoroughly stuck. Why?
-Chasing the weeds I was chopping in the pasture--I chopped, the weed flew for a bit and he danced around them and stomped them into the ground. A fun game for all until somebody gets so intense about the weed stomping that he forgets where I am and backs into me at full hopping speed. Why?
-Finding the one 6-foot section of old fence that has not been replaced (don't you love it when your 330 foot roll runs out at just the wrong spot) and crawling through it. Which isn't the worst thing until you go deep into the shelterbelt and get stuck inside a briar patch and can't figure out how to back up and get out. And so you bawl like a baby until somebody (ahem, me) comes and rescues you. Why?
Boys will indeed be boys but must every idea at this age end with somebody getting stuck, lost or knocked out cold?
Good thing he still has a cute Jersey face...