There were two farms I knew as a kid that had about the same number of cows - forty or less. The farmers were very different in their ways of managing their livestock. The younger farm treated the livestock as a business. The cattle were well-fed. There was a trough for sorgham (an unrefined cane molasses) that the cows were offered. There was fine alfalfa hay in the winter when the grasses in the fields were less abundant. The older farm also fed the cows well - a mix of sweet-smelling grains to supplement their diet as needed. Both farms had salt licks out in the pasture - about a one foot cube of solid salt - unrefined - a kind of dark rose color perhaps due to other minerals. I don't know. The animals did slowly whittle the cubes down with their tongues over the year.

On the younger farm, the owners - good people - were not farmers. They hired help, but also oversaw the operation. They used electric fences to keep the cattle in the pasture, and cattle prods to get the cattle to the barn or corral. They wrestled some of the animals to get them in the corral for vaccinations. When they touched an animal, it was to get him or her onto a trailer, or from one side of the pasture to the next. They were novices, and seemed to rely on force to succeed. On the older farm, the owner was the farmer; farming was his calling in life. He knew every cow by name. When he called they came, and he fed them one by one by name. There was no sense that he dominated his herd - he was there every day, and they got up together before dawn. The cows were waiting at the barn when he showed up. They rubbed up against his arm, and he stroked their heads or backs. They seemed to speak the same language.