The probe of horror.

Know what's awkward? Semen checks.

Having to do that to any animal is awkward, but doing it to bulls... it's probably the most awkward thing I've ever experienced. I'm slowly becoming desensitized, so hopefully it won't phase me soon, but as of now: I still shudder every time I think about it.

Never experienced a semen check? Don't worry! I'll fill you in on all the gory details...

Imagine a massive, beefy bull caught in a head chute (I've talked about these before).

Like this. Except this is obviously not a bull. So imagine a much larger, stockier creature.

Then imagine a couple of old farmers standing around, watching and waiting and discussing matters of the cattle farming nature. Sometimes they even bring their wives, who generally just watch.

Now the vet comes in and sticks his/her arm into the bull's anus. Normally there isn't a huge reaction during this part. It's just the vet massaging around in there for a little bit, and sometimes a tech will use this opportunity to measure the scrotal circumference.

So the bull has kinda been stimulated, it's slightly aroused, and it's time to bring in the big guns.

This is an electro-ejaculator probe. That just sounds terrifying. By the way, this thing is bigger than my arm.

Yep, that frightening contraption goes into the bull's anus (along with a great deal of lube). And then it stimulates him. Electrically. With waves of shocks, basically. And the bull arches its back and makes these horrible "merrrrrrrr"ing noises and grunts. You can feel his discomfort and violation. Your own butt starts to hurt.

You are privy to these sensations, but apparently, the farmers aren't. They just stand there, still watching. Still nonchalantly chatting about the sale barn. That's probably the worst part. I mean, yeah, watching a bull painfully "getting off" is bad enough, but watching it with a bunch of old men? Ugh.

It's even worse when the bull is a "virgin bull". It's even more worse when the old men make comments about it throughout the whole thing ("Yep, he's a virgin.. bet he's gonna like this..." and, "Look at him; he's enjoying that.."). It's pretty sick.

Within a matter of seconds, the semen is collected and "The Violator" is removed (covered in poop and blood). Then the vet makes a slide and does a count to see how viable (and therefore, sell-able) the bull is for breeding. Usually the bull collapses as soon as the probe of horror is slid out of his anus, and you can see the exhaustion, embarrassment, degradation, violation, etc. all over his face. It's so sad.

There are other ways to collect semen from a bull, but this (unfortunately) is the only way I've seen it done firsthand. It sucks that things like this are part of veterinary medicine (the painful method, I mean.. the semen collecting itself doesn't really bother me). It really sucks that I will have to be the one inflicting this kind of pain at some point in my career. I hate it, but I remember that the good I can do as a vet will greatly outweigh these not-so-good things.

The perks of being "The Testicle Collector"...

When I was little, working cows with my grandpas, dad, uncles, cousins, and brothers (I was usually the only girl) was the most amazing, exciting adventure in the world. I loved getting to be that close to the cows. I honestly had dreams about getting to pet them while they were stuck in the head chute, squirming with fear and discomfort. I mean, yeah, I felt bad that they had to go through that, but everyone assured me we were helping them, so I was okay with it (for the most part).

For those of you that are "city folk" and have no idea what I'm talking about, working cows= rounding up the herd into a big pen, running them one-by-one down an alleyway, and catching their heads in a gate so they can't go crazy and hurt anyone while they are getting their vaccinations and dewormer. It is also when they are sprayed with fly spray, dehorned, checked for pregnancy/general health, and, if necessary, castrated. That was my favorite part because I had the best job that there was; I was the testicle collector.

Just so you get the idea..

Why did I collect the testicles, you ask? To give them to people that enjoyed eating them (not my family, don't worry). But that wasn't the most interesting part of my job (they were just slimy, bloody testicles that I threw in a bucket). No, the things I looked forward to the most were the scrotums. 

That's right, people; I liked the ball sacks. 

When castrating a cow (using the "cutting" method), the tip of the bull's ball sack is cut off and tossed aside so the baby producing treasures can be exposed. I don't know if anyone realized I did it, but I collected those ball sack tips right along with the testicles, and then I saved them (wow... I was a scrotum hoarder...). 

Ah, the memories.. (not my picture; don't worry, I always washed the blood off of them before I carried them away)

Organizing them by color, I laid them out on the table on Grandma's porch, and I kept them until someone threw them away or the dogs carried them off. I even named them (I distinctly remember a red one named Henry..). They were my fuzzy, little, scrotum toys, and I played with them for hours. They were just so soft. I cringe a little thinking about it now, but you know how when something is soft, people have the tendency to rub it against their faces? Yeah...I'm pretty sure I did that with my scrotum pieces. I ever so gently rubbed bovine ball sacks on my face. 

This is another one of those things you probably shouldn't tell people if you want to make friends...