Imagine this: black rangy beef cow, eyes wide, bellering fit to be tied. Her head is stuck in a dairy lockup, and she’s panicked. *Record scratch* *Freeze frame*

I walked into the convention hall a minute late. I checked in at the registration table, got my clicker and sat behind the Jerome County sign. The man sitting by me picked up the cowboy hat that he had set on my table. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t know if the other delegate from your county would make it, but here you are.” At the president’s call to order, we opened our policy books and began the annual business of the Idaho Farm Bureau.

After the third round of the World Series, our favorite (or is it least?) folks over at PETA proposed that Major League Baseball change the name of the “bullpen” to “arm barn” to “liberate the language of baseball.”

We watched as the chopper made the last pass. In moments, the final strip of corn was eaten up in the teeth of the most fantastic piece of farm equipment out there, a CLAAS Jaguar forage chopper. The best, according to my 3-year-old son.

I’m always on the lookout for inspiration for this blog. I listen and watch with ears and eyes wide open for funny things my fellow ranchers say, conundrums with our cattle and sometimes inspiring asides.

Last month, I made the unpardonable mistake of reading Facebook comments on a somewhat politically charged article. Subconsciously, I must have been missing that kind of discord since it’s been a bit drought-like on my Facebook feed since the election.