Black Angus #47 arrived with a shiny coat, regal stance, and the energy of a couch cushion. Weeks dragged by; the ladies grazed, he napped. “For that price I expected fireworks,” the farmer muttered to anyone at the feed store who’d listen.
Enter Doc Harris, stethoscope in one hand, a pocket of peppermint-flavored “performance boosters” in the other. Diagnosis: not sick—just shy of puberty and low on mojo. Prescription: one pink pill twice a day, tucked inside an apple slice.
Four days later the bull woke up like he’d swallowed a lightning bolt. He bred his first cow before breakfast, toured the neighbor’s pasture by lunch, and had half the county’s heifers lined up for introductions by Friday.
Word spread faster than flies on fresh manure:
“You hear about the mint-chip Casanova?”
“Peppermint pills? Shoot, I’ll take a bucket!”
The farmer now jokes that his return on investment smells like Christmas candy and pays like a slot machine. Lesson: sometimes the difference between a dud and a stud is patience, trust, and a little fresh breath.
