“We call that bulling a cow,” Feely continued between mouthfuls of cereal. “The bull would have to mount the cow to put her in calve, or she would need to be artificially inseminated.” “What’s that?” Lizzie asked, looking just as wide-eyed now as Gibs and Claire. “Please don’t, Feely,” I begged, having heard this exact speech from his father when I went on a playdate to his house last spring and ended up in the calving shed. “The farmer would collect the sperm from the bull, load it into the insemination gun, and shoot it into the cow’s vu—” “Okay, Feely!” I yelled, loud enough to block his
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