Mr. Townsend takes me to visit the rest of the animals and gives me instructions on how to feed them. There are two goats named Agatha and Christie; a bunch of chickens; two sheep called Ewe and Me, which Mr. Townsend thinks are the funniest names ever; a pig called Lucy, named after his sister-in-law whom he hates; and a baby steer named Ferdinand. “After Greer gave the dogs those ridiculous wine names, I insisted I got to name all the new guys,” he says. “I think I did a pretty great job, no?”

I nod and pet Ferdinand’s head.

“This one we saved from being veal!” he says happily, holding his hand out for the little steer to lick. “He’s on the young side, so he still needs formula. But at least he doesn’t need a bottle!” He shows me how to mix a white powder with water in a metal bucket. We bring it over to the little guy. His big, gentle eyes look up at me hopefully.

“Here,” Mr. Townsend says, handing me the bucket. “You give it to him. I want you two to become friends!”

I place the bucket in front of Ferdinand, and he greedily sucks up all the milk, then noses the bucket across the ground until he figures out it really is empty. Meanwhile, Mr. Townsend has gone off to get a lead line and halter, which he slips over Ferdinand’s head. “Now, I know this is going to sound silly,” he says, adjusting the halter. “But we’d like you to take him for a walk around the property every day. We want him to get used to people and not be the kind of steer that chases people around and intimidates them.”

He hands me the lead and says, “Give it a try.”

Ferdinand butts me with his head as if to say, “Come on, let’s go!” We walk around the farmyard, Ferdinand constantly butting me. “He thinks he’s a goat,” I say, trying to dodge him.

Mr. Townsend laughs. “He really likes you! I think this is a match made in heaven.”

Ferdinand looks up at me and blinks his pretty, long lashes until I pet him. I think he must be smiling, as much as a steer can smile, anyway.

“Did you save all of these animals?” I ask Mr. Townsend.

“Well, I wouldn’t say saved, but I suppose some were headed to a faster death, yes. The chickens are laying hens, but if things go well, we’ll get some meat birds. And we’re raising the pig for meat as well, so don’t get too attached to her. That’s why I named her after my sister-in-law.” He elbows me and smirks.

Raising animals to eat is pretty common around here, but I’m glad my parents never wanted to. Even if you try not to get attached, I bet it’s hard.