Denis Lehane: The nightmare of selling cattle sober

The brain surgeons of Ireland have less pressure than the farmer selling stock, writes Farming columnist Denis Lehane.

The brain surgeons of Ireland have less pressure than the farmer selling stock, writes Farming columnist Denis Lehane.

I sold a few cattle in Macroom Mart on Saturday - three Friesians and a fellow you couldn't quite pigeonhole into any grouping or category.

Anyhow, they all sold well, with the bullock of mysterious origins going to a buyer from Ballybunion. 

Hopefully, he will have a pleasant summer back there by the sea.

Ballybunion can be a nice part of the world at this time of the year, for both man and beast.

Anyhow, I was happy with where the cattle went and with what I received in return. Indeed, I have been enjoying the fruits of my labours ever since.

But good times aside, selling cattle is no joke. Granted, you have the auctioneer by your side to do your bidding for you, so to speak.

And you do have all the buyers, both online and in person, to fork out the cash.

But you, the seller, still have a few things to keep in mind.

You have to stand there and nod your head if things are going OK, and sometimes you will have to shake your head if things are not going great.

It might sound easy. But it is, in fact, by my reckoning, one of the hardest jobs in the world. The brain surgeons of Ireland have less pressure than the farmer selling stock. Brain surgeons have back-up. In the mart, you call the shots.

When selling cattle at the mart, all the decisions, good or bad, rest with you, my friend.

Should you sell, or should you not? It's the million-dollar question.

And this can be a hard call to make, especially if you are stone-cold sober.

In the old days, when men were a lot different and marts a lot less sophisticated, a farmer would rarely, if at all, darken the door of a seller's box without first throwing back a shot of something strong in a nearby watering hole. Something to brace oneself for the long road ahead.

It was a clever move, for a bit of false courage is never more necessary than when selling cattle.

A drop of what you fancy can, in most instances, rid a fellow of butterflies, shyness and other inhabitations that plague the rural Irish male.

But alas, in today's PC world, drinking while at the mart is frowned upon.

And yet a groom is never frowned upon for taking a drink on the day of his wedding. And I don't really see the difference between a man going to get married and a man selling cattle. They can both be highly charged events.

In the old days, and God be with them, a slight stagger on the part of the seller was no crime, and indeed nor was it an unusual sight to see, as the seller, now infused with great confidence, takes his place alongside the auctioneer.

Looking and acting more like Pavarotti than the humble servant of the land he was earlier in the day, this man would happily allow the mart to sell his own mother, never mind the few cattle in the ring, and not think twice about it.

He was in the ideal frame of mind to sell livestock.

Selling cattle is no easy chore. A bit like flying an aeroplane, you need be prepared for every eventuality.

It might be plain sailing, but then again, it might be a right disaster.

These days the man with beer on his breath at a mart is like a goat wandering the streets of New York. He's in the wrong place entirely. He's a lost soul.

Last Saturday, I sold cattle in Macroom Mart, and I was as sober as a Supreme Court judge.

I made my way to the seller's box with fear and trepidation.

As I stood there, my knees rattled, my pulse raced, and my head spun.

I couldn't think straight.

Yes, I managed to agree on a price. But I would have agreed to anything really to get out of there.

It was no place for a sober man. It took great courage on my part.

Thankfully, dear reader, you will be relieved to hear I have recovered since then.

Great wealth can change a man. And with my pockets now brimming over from my mart success, I can almost look back on the event with fondness.