Farewell to Tibet

This blog began with the story of Tibet, a yak whose milk I wanted to turn into gloriously rich butter. But she had other plans.

In order to milk an animal they must first, be fresh (have a baby) and secondly, be tame enough to be milked. Tibet couldn't achieve either.

I worked hard for two years trying to tame her--working regularly with her in a swing chute, brushing her, even using a homeopathic concoction to calm her down.

But she knew those horns were deadly and never let anyone who got near her forget it. She'd bang then on the fence with lightening speed.

Thinking that once she became fresh and would be handled every day, I never gave up hope. The first bull was with her for nearly two months, but produced no offspring. The second bull she tried to kill despite many amorous licking sessions through the fence. When he was left into her paddock she promptly pinned him to the ground with those horns making low-pitched growling sound that was none too romantic.

That was the final straw. So yesterday we loaded her up and sent her to Horsts' Abattoir where she'll come home neatly packaged in USDA-inspected, vacuum-sealed packages of steaks and burgers in a few weeks.