In the 1970s we sold cull cows to a cattle buyer from Montreal who would come every three months or so and buy directly from dairy farmers.

We always knew when he arrived in his big car. He’d toot the horn. He had a lot of territory to cover and he didn’t waste time going to the door. He didn’t waste time trying to find you. If you had cows to sell, you dropped what you were doing. If you had nothing to sell, you politely waved and shook your head and he drove away.

I’d much rather take my chances at a sales barn than selling livestock on the farm. But sometimes there was a cow with a lame foot that might not fare out well at a sale barn being pushed and bullied by other cows.

Cecil was always looking for these kinds of cows. There was always a lot of dickering before a sale was made. He’d take out his sales pad and show off half a dozen places he’d been to and show what he paid for the cows. The figures were always lower than what my dad and I wanted.

He’d say, "Look, I’m giving you cash money. You don’t have any expenses. No trucking and no commission. Why don’t you take it? If you send her to the sale barn and she goes down, you’ll have nothing."

"I’ll pick her up next week. The truck is going right by here. Look it here, I bought three cows from your neighbour."

He’d open his sales book again and show the facts. They sure weren’t private sales. And so it would go.

When a sale was made he’d reach into his right pocket and pull out a big wad of money. He’d peel off the right amount and hand it over. I was always amazed that cattle buyers in those days carried thousands of dollars in a big roll in their pockets.

This man was able to buy cheap cattle because he paid cash and farmers didn’t have to worry about bad cheques. Paying cash for cattle on the farm has always been a common practice. It was also pocket money for the farmer. And there was no worry about what might happen to the cow if she went the sale barn route.

Looking back it seemed that Cecil always showed up when we were busy. I don’t think he ever came on a rainy day when we had more time on our hands. He came when we were eating lunch or getting ready to milk. He liked to buy when farmers were busy so they didn’t have time to dicker on the price.

I remember one spring evening he showed up just as I was busy with milking. He said he needed one or two cows to finish a load that was going directly to the slaughter plant in Montreal.

Could I help him out with a cow or two?

There were two cows that were getting up in years and both had leg problems. I could sell them and make room for heifers that would freshen soon.

Cecil looked at the cows and offered a very measly amount. I said no way. I’ll send them to the sale barn in Cobden or Galetta. I know I’ll get a lot more, I said. You had to speak up and be bold when dealing with Cecil.

He was persistent. He upped the offer a little and put his arm over my shoulder. He showed the wad of money. Still I said no to the deal.

"Look it, Maynard," he’d say. "I’ve bought quite a few good cows from you. I’m going to give you $250 for that cow ..that’s way more than you’ll get at the sales barn. But I can only give you $100 for the other cow. I don’t trust her legs. Won’t you help me out?"

I didn’t sell the cows that spring but put them on pasture for the summer. By the end of summer their legs were much better and the cows looked good.

I sent them to Galetta and they brought me almost $500 each.

It taught me a lesson. Sell cattle when they look good and aren’t lame.

And not to Cecil.

 (Maynard van der Galien is a retired dairy farmer. He writes weekly and monthly columns.)