Growing up as an Iowa farm boy my parents were mostly cash crop farmers but did raise some livestock for a short time.
One day a cow was on the ground with a troubled birth so we pulled the calf but lost the cow. We bottled fed the calf and raised it to an adult which we ear tagged as #1. Whenever we'd enter the pasture #1 would walk out of the pack and rub her head and neck against us. She'd then follow us around as we counted and stayed nearby until we left. She was an excellent calf and a joy of an animal.
Whenever our freezer was low Dad would pick out a prime calf and take it to the a local locker for dressing. One afternoon I helped him restock the freezer and we all sat down for dinner. Half way through the meal as Mom talked to Dad he gleefully announced we were eating #1.