Cow

wombat nee blownup · July 15, 2019

Moored at north cove at the weekend, spotted these fine fellows. No matter whether they’re dairy or for beef what is like to know is what happens to the horns on their demise? Is there a market for them? Chinese or sold to the yanks to put on the bonnets ( hoods) of their 4 X 4’s? or do they just go with the rest of the carcass for chocolate or whatever? I might have had a couple in some Asda burgers at sometime or other.

Sent from the Norfolk Broads Network mobile app

Ray · July 15, 2019

"Keratin from horns, hooves, feathers and hair are also used in hair-care products as well as body washes, lotions and make up."

An interesting short article about the use of waste products from the meat industry. You may prefer not to read it if you are easily put off or are vegetarian/vegan for ethical reasons

https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/sue-cross/horse-meat-slaugtherhorse-veganism_b_2684502.html

Londonlad1985 · July 15, 2019

Great picture! I don't venture south as much as I should, but I've never managed to bag a space at North Cove!

Regulo · July 15, 2019

1 hour ago, Ray said:

"Keratin from horns, hooves, feathers and hair are also used in hair-care products as well as body washes, lotions and make up."

On a very informative trip up the Thames on the "Pocahontas" boat some years back, the skipper pointed out an enormous open-fronted warehouse/shed, stacked to the roof with animal bones. "Where do you think they end up?", he asked. After a few seconds to give us a chance to ponder, he said, "Camay soap". Several of the ladies went very quiet, for some reason!

Timbo · July 15, 2019

Fantastic photo! Coming from a farming family my other half will often ask me 'what kind of' questions should we pass anything in a field, be it crop, cattle or sheep. When I reply she tuts in annoyance because I will give the 'correct' term for the said exhibit. For example, she has the misguided notion that black and white cows are Friesian or Holstein cattle, when in fact they are called 'black and white beasts' (beast it pronounced 'bee ust'). Of course, I have my farmer grandfather and his love of purposeful mispronunciation of language to blame. Brown cows are 'brown beasts', Highland and English Longhorns are 'pointy beasts' and the plural of sheep is 'shoup'. As a young child I can remember being told by Grandad to 'seethee be carful where thee walks ah been feedin 'okey t' shoup an black n' white beeusts et it and tonned bilious. Tell thee fatha not t' strike a match in yon ings'. A very quick translation 'I say, young man, be careful where you walk as I have been feeding turnips to the sheep and the Holsteins have eaten them and consequently have diarrhoea. Tell your father not to light his cigarette in the meadow due to high levels of methane.' I should point out that in general conversation Grandad spoke with a 'BBC English' accent but would frequently dip into broad Yorkshire.

These 'pointy beasts' are the cause of Dylan the beagle's objection to any animal, with the exception of food-bearing humans, larger than himself existing. Dylan likes to tour Royal Tudor's decks wearing his life jacket. One glorious morning at around 7 am we had crossed Barton Broad and headed up the Ant back to Wayford. In the meadows on the starboard bank were some of these 'pointy beasts'. As Dylan sat on the bow of RT one of the beasts made it's way down to the river to drink. Every step it took we could feel through the water and the hull of the boat. Dylan laid his ears flat. As the beast entered the water it mooed at the boat. Dylan fled in panic from the bow over the roof of the cabins and launched himself into the cockpit. He then ran into the galley, before skittering back into the cockpit, flying into the front cabins and burying himself under my duvet. Since that day, Dylan will flee at the sight of horses, large dogs, sheep, the fat cat next door or anyone walking on RT's decks with heavy tread. The pointy beasts at Stalham are given a very wide berth!

Hylander · July 15, 2019

1 hour ago, Timbo said:

Fantastic photo! Coming from a farming family my other half will often ask me 'what kind of' questions should we pass anything in a field, be it crop, cattle or sheep. When I reply she tuts in annoyance because I will give the 'correct' term for the said exhibit. For example, she has the misguided notion that black and white cows are Friesian or Holstein cattle, when in fact they are called 'black and white beasts' (beast it pronounced 'bee ust'). Of course, I have my farmer grandfather and his love of purposeful mispronunciation of language to blame. Brown cows are 'brown beasts', Highland and English Longhorns are 'pointy beasts' and the plural of sheep is 'shoup'. As a young child I can remember being told by Grandad to 'seethee be carful where thee walks ah been feedin 'okey t' shoup an black n' white beeusts et it and tonned bilious. Tell thee fatha not t' strike a match in yon ings'. A very quick translation 'I say, young man, be careful where you walk as I have been feeding turnips to the sheep and the Holsteins have eaten them and consequently have diarrhoea. Tell your father not to light his cigarette in the meadow due to high levels of methane.' I should point out that in general conversation Grandad spoke with a 'BBC English' accent but would frequently dip into broad Yorkshire.

These 'pointy beasts' are the cause of Dylan the beagle's objection to any animal, with the exception of food-bearing humans, larger than himself existing. Dylan likes to tour Royal Tudor's decks wearing his life jacket. One glorious morning at around 7 am we had crossed Barton Broad and headed up the Ant back to Wayford. In the meadows on the starboard bank were some of these 'pointy beasts'. As Dylan sat on the bow of RT one of the beasts made it's way down to the river to drink. Every step it took we could feel through the water and the hull of the boat. Dylan laid his ears flat. As the beast entered the water it mooed at the boat. Dylan fled in panic from the bow over the roof of the cabins and launched himself into the cockpit. He then ran into the galley, before skittering back into the cockpit, flying into the front cabins and burying himself under my duvet. Since that day, Dylan will flee at the sight of horses, large dogs, sheep, the fat cat next door or anyone walking on RT's decks with heavy tread. The pointy beasts at Stalham are given a very wide berth!