is creeping over fields of green. Remembering
the faces, the moments unseen. The hands that
built a dynasty, the vision in their eyes. Echoes
in the auction bar, beneath an endless sky. This
is the bull by turn the bar. Welcome back to
the Bull Vine Podcast. Today we're sharing a
story that really just stopped us in our tracks.
We talk a lot about the million dollar cows,
you know, the glitz of the colored shavings,
the genomic giants that seem to just arrive fully
formed. Right. But the story we found in the
archives this week, it isn't about high prices
at all. It's about a transaction that happened
for Well, for pocket change. You know, this is
the kind of conversation that reminds you why
you even got into dairy in the first place. Yeah.
It's not just about the numbers or the ribbons.
It's about the intuition, the gamble, and that
gut feeling you get when you look at an animal
and you see something that nobody else does.
We are diving deep into the legend of Snow Boots
Wince Milky Way. Now, if you're a student of
the breed, that name is just its royalty. Oh,
absolutely. But even if you know the name. The
details of how she started are genuinely hard
to believe. It's a wild ride. I mean, we're talking
about a cow that essentially started her life
in a gunny sack on a wheat farm. A literal gunny
sack. Yeah. And she ended up, I mean, she ended
up changing the entire genetic map of the Holstein
breed forever. So let's set the scene. I really
want you to picture this vividly. It's the 1950s.
We're on a back road in Kansas. It's dusty, it's
hot, just the typical Kansas summer. And there's
an old sedan driving down this washboard road.
You can just imagine the suspension creaking.
And in the back seat, there is a literal burlap
gunny sack. And for anyone listening who hasn't
been around a farm for 50 years, a gunny sack
is, it's scratchy, it smells like grain dust,
and it is definitely not designed for livestock
transport. Not at all. And inside that sack,
a calf. A living, breathing heifer calf. A calf
that costs $75. $75. I look this up. Even adjusted
for inflation. We're not talking about a fortune
here. Not even close. But in today's money, $75
might get you a couple of bags of high -end mineral
if you're lucky. Or maybe half a ton of hay,
if that. Right. Honestly, $75 today is a coal
calf. It's a get this animal off my feed bill
kind of price. Yeah, exactly. But here's this
calf stuffed in a bag. bouncing around the backseat
of a sedan. And the crazy part is, this calf,
this little creature, would eventually score
EX97. EX97. That's a score that is. It's almost
a myth. It's rarefied error. We really need to
pause on that number later because you just...
You just don't see it. You really don't. But
the contrast is what gets me. I mean, you're
the farmer here. What happens to most $75 calves?
Well, let's be real. If I go to the sale barn
today and I buy the cheapest calf in the ring,
what is her future? Most $75 calves, especially
back then, they end up as beef. Yeah. Or best
case scenario, they get forgotten in a commercial
herd somewhere, milk for maybe two lactations,
and then leave with zero fanfare. Right. They
certainly do not become the mother of a bull
that sires 100 gold metal dams. That just doesn't
happen. It's a statistical impossibility almost.
But that's why this is the ultimate Cinderella
story of the dairy world. But it's not just a
fairy tale, is it? It's actually a master class
on value. It really is. It's a lesson on what
actually makes a cow valuable. You know, we get
so caught up in the marketing and the show wins.
And don't get me wrong, Snowboots became a marketing
icon. But her real value was her ability to pay
the bills. She built a dynasty. She was the invisible
profit maker long before she became the visible
superstar. So let's go back to the very, very
beginning, the origin story. We are in Abilene,
Kansas, the breeder. He wasn't exactly a big
time dairy mogul with a glossy catalog. No, not
at all. He was a wheat farmer. And that's a crucial
distinction. Why is that so important? Because
his main gig was wheat. His livelihood depended
on the harvest, not the milk check. He had a
few registered Holsteins on the side. So he wasn't
looking at these cows with the same, you know,
high -stakes eye that a professional breeder
would. He was looking at them practically. Does
she milk? Is she trouble? And the dam of our
protagonist, a cow named Milky Way Judy Triune.
Looking at the records, she was actually a really
good cow, wasn't she? Oh, she was excellent phenotypically,
scored EX -92. She was sired by the most popular
bull in the Kansas stud at the time. Great, utter
texture, great potential, but she had a fatal
flaw. And this is where the biology meets the
labor reality of a farm. Extremely short teats.
The bane of a dairyman's existence, especially
in the 1950s. The source material says she calved
on Christmas day. And because those teats were
so short, she had to be hand milked. Can you
just imagine that? It's Christmas morning, the
kids are inside opening presents, there's probably
cinnamon rolls in the oven, and you are out in
the freezing cold barn, hand milking a fresh
heifer, because the machine cups literally will
not stay on. What a nightmare. That is a headache.
That is the kind of cow that, despite looking
good, despite that EX92 score, makes you just
want to sell her. So the triune bloodline is
a common trait, the short teats. It was known
for high components and really strong attachments,
but... Yeah, short teats for kind of the trade
-off. It's always a trade -off in genetics, right?
Yeah. You get that beautiful, shallow, utter,
but sometimes you lose the teat length. And for
wheat farmer who just wants to get the chores
done, that's a deal breaker. And that's exactly
where the deal happens. Enter Jack Sexton of
Jaisal Farm. Right. He visits the farm with his
friend Ed Reed. They see this cow, the one with
the short teats, and she's tagged at $250. Which
was a decent price for a good cow back then.
It wasn't a steal. That was market value for
a cow you knew you had to struggle with. But
Jack sees something else. He sees the calf at
her side. A two -month -old heifer. And this
is where that cow sense comes in. We talk about
genomes today, right? We look at a DNA printout
to tell us if a calf is good. Jack Sexton didn't
have that. He had his eyes. And he looks at this
calf and he sees what he called a long -necked
heifer. When you say long -necked break that
down for us. Is that just an aesthetic thing?
No, it's a huge indicator of dairy character
a long clean neck Usually correlates with the
cow that's going to convert feed into milk instead
of fat. It suggests angularity sharpness openness
of rib He saw a calf that just looked clean.
Okay. He saw the influence of that triune breeding
the strength Yeah, but maybe packaged a little
better than the mock. It's that intuition You
know, you see a calf and you don't quite know
why but her hair coat shines a little different
She holds her head a little higher. You just
know she's special but the obstacle wasn't the
price. It was the owner The boy who owned the
calf, the wheat farmer's son, he didn't want
to sell. He wanted her for a 4 -H project. Right.
So Jack does what any savvy cattleman does. He
uses the practical argument. He looks at the
boy and he says, look kid, her mom has short
teats. You know how hard she is to milk. He went
right for the weak spot. He did. He said, this
calf is probably going to have short teats too.
You don't want that trouble for your project.
You should sell. It's the oldest trick in the
book. Focusing on the flaw to get the deal. It's...
borderline predatory, but also kind of practical
advice. It's negotiation 101. And honestly, it
was a fair warning. Genetics are heritable. There
was a very high chance she would have short teats.
Jack was taking that risk. The boy wasn't. So
they struck a deal. Three hundred and twenty
five dollars for the pair. Two hundred and fifty
for the cow and seventy five dollars for the
calf. Seventy five bucks. Yeah. It is just incredible
to think about the return on investment on that
$75. It might be the highest ROI in the history
of the entire breed. But the boy had one condition.
He said, you can have her, but you have to name
her Snow Boots. I love that. It's such a kid
thing to do, isn't it? She had white feet, presumably,
but Snow Boots. It's not a sophisticated name
like Milky Way or Triune. It's a pet name. And
Jack agreed. So the deal is done. Jack takes
the $75 calf, puts her in the gunny sack to keep
the car clean. Because you do not want manure
in your nice tent. Yeah, you do not. And he drives
her home to Giselle Farm. No fanfare, just a
sack on a back road. You know, I think it's important
to just pause here and reflect on the reality
of buying cattle. Jack bought a problem, the
short teats on the dam, to get a potential diamond
in the rough. Right. That's a gamble every farmer
makes. You weigh the headache against the potential.
And in this case, that intuition to spot the
long -necked calf that others might have missed,
that's the difference between an average herd
and a legendary one. Most people would have walked
away because of the dam's milking speed. Jack
walked toward the potential. But here's the thing.
It wasn't an instant success story. Snowboots
didn't just hop out of that sack and start winning
championships. Oh, not at all. This wasn't a
movie montage where she wins the county fair
the next day. Far from it. And this is the part
of the story I respect the most. The grind. The
source says her first show at a local district
level, she placed 21st. 21st. Out of 22. Wow.
That is humbling. That is a kick in the teeth.
You know, you buy this calf, you think you see
something special, you drag her all the way to
the show, clip her up, and the judge basically
puts her at the bottom of the class. Essentially
says, thanks for coming, try again next year.
It really emphasizes the humility of the beginning.
Why? From 21st place to a national legend, it
took time. She spent seven and a half years at
Giselle Farm. That's a long time. It is. Seven
years of milking twice a day. Every single day.
And doing her job is the key phrase there. Absolutely.
In those seven years, she wasn't a cover girl.
She was a working cow. She calved, she bred back,
she raised useful offspring. She wasn't the flashy
superstar yet. She was just a good, solid cow
in a working herd. So what changes in a cow between
age two and age seven? I mean, why did she go
from 21st place to eventually being a champion?
Well... Holsteins, especially those old bloodlines
like the triunes and the Ormsby's, they were
slow maturers. They needed time to drop their
rib to widen out. Today, we breed for such early
maturity heifers that look like cows at 12 months.
Back then, a cow -like Snow Boots was like a
fine wine. She just kept adding depth and strength
with every lactation. She had to grow into her
frame. It takes real patience to hold a cow like
that. Most guys would have called that 21st place
heifer. Jack kept her. But then the turning point
comes and it comes in the form of a man named
Dick Brooks from pack Lamar farm now Dick Brooks
is a character We really need to unpack. This
isn't just another farmer. This is a guy with
a history of Trading draft horses and milking
cows in Ohio. He had this deep almost rugged
background in animal husbandry You know muscle
he knew bone and then he moves West Colorado
and partners with an oil man in the all bidness,
as they say. Yeah, the 1960s were a wild time
for tax structures in agriculture, weren't they?
They were. Oh, absolutely. Yeah. This was the
era where wealthy industrialists, oilmen, bankers,
were pouring money into purebred cattle for tax
write -offs and prestige. It fueled a massive
acceleration in genetics. So you have this partnership
pack Lamar farm. It wasn't just a barn. It was
an empire, a 12 ,240 acre facility, steel frame
buildings. This was big business dairy before
that was really the norm. Yeah. So Brooks has
the backing of oil money, but he wasn't just
a checkbook. He was a philosopher breeder. He
absolutely was. He wasn't just buying the most
expensive cows. He was buying specific pieces
of a puzzle he was building in his head. He loved
Ormsby blood and triune genetics. He was obsessed
with line breeding, stacking those genetic traits
to create a uniform herd. He wasn't just buying
cows, he was building a masterpiece. So in 1961,
Brooks is at a regional show in Abilene. Snow
Boots is older now. She's matured. She's finally
filled out that frame. And Brooks sees her. He
sees that potential. He sees the triune breeding.
He loves the strength, the width, and he makes
an offer. $2 ,500 plus a bull. Okay. Let's do
the math again. Jack bought the pair for $325.
He's now selling the cow alone for $2 ,500 plus
a valuable bull. Massive return. It's a massive
return. But this is where the story gets really
emotional for me. The source mentions that Jack
Sexton had a sleepless night after he got that
offer. So I have to stop you there. $2 ,500 in
1961 is the equivalent of a brand new car. Easily.
Jack Sexton is a wheat farmer. Are we really
saying he lost sleep just because he loved the
cow? Or was he terrified he was selling a lottery
ticket way too early? That's the eternal question
for a breeder, isn't it? Yeah. And I think it's
probably both. I don't think it was just about
the money. I think it was the realization of
what he had. He had watched her grow from that
little calf in the sack into this magnificent
animal. He knew she was special, but he also
knew his own limitations. He knew that Josel
Farm, while a great place, it wasn't Paklamor.
He couldn't give her the national stage. He didn't
have the marketing machine or the professional
show string. So it was. It was an act of love
to let her go, but also a very savvy business
decision to cash in. It really was. It's that
bittersweet moment every breeder faces. Do I
keep this incredible animal for myself just to
look at her every day and know she's mine? Or
do I let her go to a place where she can prove
herself to the whole world? Jack realized Paclimar
could give her an opportunity he couldn't. And
getting a herd sire in return, that definitely
sweetened the deal. So he sells her. Snow Boots
leaves Kansas and heads to the high plains of
Colorado. And this is where the journey just
really accelerates. Life at Paclimar was different.
This was the big leagues. We're talking about
a facility where cows were treated like queens,
but they were expected to perform like athletes.
And when Snow Boots walked into that barn, She
wasn't the only star. She walked into a barn
that housed Harborcrest Rose Millie. The Millie
cow. We have to talk about Millie. The queen.
Millie was the flashy show cow. All -American.
She was the one everyone talked about. The celebrity.
She was refined, elegant, the supermodel of the
breed. And Snow... Snowboots was the barn favorite.
The crew loved her. She had a great disposition.
She wasn't high -strung or difficult. She was
the one you wanted to work with every day. I
love that contrast. Millie is the diva who needs
the special attention, and Snow Boots is the
colleague you want to go have a beer with after
work. Exactly. But don't let that barn favorite
title fool you. Yeah. Snow Boots was an absolute
grinder. Her stats at Paclimar are mind -blowing,
especially for the 1960s. Let's talk about those
numbers, because I think modern listeners might
just glaze over them if we don't put them in
context. She produced over 200 ,000 pounds of
lifetime milk. Wow. Okay, let's break that down.
200 ,000 pounds today in a modern freestyle barn
with TMR mixers, robotics, heat abatement, sand
banning, all of it. 200 ,000 pounds is a great
achievement. Right. But in the 1960s, they were
feeding dry hay, maybe some green chop and grain
in the parlor. No computer balancing the ration
every hour. To hit 200 ,000 pounds in that environment
is just pure grit. It's biological efficiency
at its finest. She had records of 24 ,000 pounds
of milk in a single lactation. That was massive
for that era. That's like a baseball player hitting
60 home runs before the steroid era. It's just
natural ability. And her fertility. This is something
we struggle with so immensely in the breed today.
It is the number one profit killer on dairies
today. Cows that won't breed back. Snow boots
calved in September, six years in a row. Like
clockwork. Like a Swiss watch. That means she
had a perfect 12 -month calving interval. She
would calve, peek and milk, get bread on the
first or second service and do it all over again.
That is the Holy Grail. A cow that milks heavy
and breeds back instantly. That's where the profit
is. Every month a cow is open past her voluntary
waiting period. It costs the farmer money. Snow
boots never cost them a dime. So she's working
hard at home, but she's also finally getting
her moment in the spotlight. The peak moment
comes at Waterloo in 1962. the National Dairy
Cattle Congress. That was the Super Bowl of dairy
shows at the time. Yeah. You know, Madison wasn't
the behemoth it is now. Waterloo was the place.
And in the aged cow class, Snowboots and Millie
are both in the ring. Can you just imagine the
tension? You have two cows from the same farm,
owned by the same man, competing for the top
spot. It's like having two heavyweights from
the same gym fighting for the world title. And
the result. Snowboots takes first. Millie takes
second and then for the championship grand champion
goes to snow boots. Yeah reserve grand goes to
Millie that is That's historic. It was the first
time in history that one farm took both grand
and reserve females at the national show It was
a complete domination by Paklamar. It proved
that Dick Brooks wasn't just some eccentric with
oil money. He was a genius He had assembled the
two best cows in the world. I love the detail
in the source about the classification score,
too She eventually scored ex 97 ex 97 and the
source describes the silence in the barn when
the classifier announced that score It's a reference.
You have to understand, classification is subjective.
But EX97 is basically saying, God could not have
made this cow any better. When a classifier gives
that score, everyone just stops. It's almost
a spiritual moment for a cattleman. It validates
everything Jack Sexton saw in that gunny sack.
It validates everything Dick Brooks saw at that
regional show. She was, for all intents and purchases,
Perfect. So she has achieved perfection in the
ring. She's a production machine in the barn.
But Dick Brooks wasn't done. He wanted to secure
her legacy. And this leads us to the breakthrough,
the genetic gamble. This is my favorite part
of the story because it shows the difference
between a multiplier, someone who just breeds
good cows to good bulls, and a true breeder.
Brooks wanted a herd sire out of snow boots.
He wanted to bottle that magic. But he had a
very specific vision, right? He didn't just want
the popular bull of the day. No. He wanted that
triune blood. Remember, that's the Kansas genetics
she came from. The strength, the width. But by
the early 60s, all the proven bowls with that
bloodline were dead or gone. Frozen semen wasn't
widely available from those old bowls yet. He
was stuck. So he couldn't just open a catalog
and pick a proven winner with high reliability
like we do today? No way. He had to take a risk.
A massive risk. He chose a bowl named Skyway
Vala Vista Double. And Double was? Unproven.
Completely unproven. He was a two -year -old
bull. He had zero daughters and milk. No data.
No proof. Nothing. Let's just pause on that.
He took one of the two best cows in the entire
world, an EX -97 Grand Champion, and bred her
to a bull that nobody knew anything about, performance
-wise. It sounds completely insane by modern
standards. Today, we look at genomic numbers.
We look at reliability. If a bull doesn't have
data, most top breeders won't touch him for a
contract mating. But Brooks used gut instinct.
and pedigree knowledge. What did he see in that
unproven bull? He knew the bloodlines. He knew
the bull's family, the Ike family. He knew that
lion produced flat bones, which means quality
in the leg structure, and high wide rear udders.
He was trying to correct specific things. He
wasn't just breeding for numbers. He was breeding
for type. He trusted his eye over the data that
he didn't have. He was basically betting the
farm on his understanding of anatomy. It was
a gamble on biology, not statistics. Exactly.
And the result of that gamble was born on September
22, 1963. A bull calf named Paklamar Bootmaker.
Bootmaker. A name that just echoes through history.
If you look at pedigrees today, you still see
his influence everywhere. But at the time, he
was just another calf. And the drama continues.
In 1967, Paklamar has a dispersal sale. But it
wasn't a normal sale. Brooks used a pairing strategy.
This is just brilliant. This is where the business
acumen really comes in. He wanted to sell cattle,
but keep his best genetics. So he paired animals.
The highest bidder got to pick one animal from
the pair, and Brooks got to keep the other. It's
like a draft. So he pairs Millie the All -American,
the queen, with bootmaker, the young bull, out
of snow boots. Think about those stakes. He's
risking losing his foundation cow or his future
herd sire. He's forcing the buyers to decide
what is worth more, the proven past, which is
Millie, or the potential future, which is Bootmaker.
The bidding goes all the way up to $80 ,000.
Which is a fortune in 1967. We're talking half
a million dollars or more in today's buying power.
A syndicate wins the bid, and they have to choose.
Do they take the proven show cow, Millie, or
do they take the young bull, Bootmaker? They
took the bull. Bootmaker. And Brooks got to keep
Millie. It was exactly what he wanted. He kept
the cow he loved, and the bull went off to an
A .I. stud to become a legend. He engineered
that sale perfectly. It's like high -stakes poker,
but with cattle. It really is. But it shows how
much faith the industry was starting to have
in that snow boots line. They picked her son
over the all -American Millie. That says everything.
So, Bootmaker goes out into the world. Let's
talk about the ripple effect. Because initially
it wasn't a slam dunk, was it? No. The early
Bootmaker daughters. They were plain. They scared
the experts. They didn't look like show winners
as heifers. They were shallow, maybe a little
gangly. That must have been terrifying for the
syndicate that just paid $80 ,000. Oh, I'm sure
there was some serious buyer's remorse early
on. I'm sure there were some angry phone calls.
But then they matured. And that's that snow boot
streak coming through again. Just like snow boots
needed seven years to reach her peak, the bootmaker
daughters got better with age. They dropped their
ribs, they widened out, they started milking
like fire hoses. And the stat that defines bootmaker...
He became the first bull in history to sire 100
gold medal dams. Explain gold medal dam for the
listeners who might not know the criteria. The
gold medal dam isn't just a pretty cow. To on
that... A cow has to meet really strict criteria
for both production high milk, fat, and protein
in classification score. And she has to produce
offspring that do the same. It's a measure of
transmitting ability. For a bull to sire a hundred
of them, it means he wasn't just siring pretty
cows. He was siring cows that worked hard, looked
good, and passed it on. He was making brood cows,
practical cows that lasted. And while her son
was conquering the world, Snowboot's own story
came to a very quiet end. It did. The source
describes it beautifully. You know, she wasn't
sent to slaughter. She wasn't put down because
she couldn't get up. She was just found dead
in her box stall at Paklamar. Her head was resting
on her side like she was just asleep. She was
14 years old. And she was pregnant with her 11th
calf. That just speaks to her vitality right
to the very end. Absolutely. She didn't fade
away. She didn't break down. She just stopped.
Her heart just gave out. Dick Brooks gave a eulogy
for her. He said, the cow you can breed to anything,
everyone's favorite. And that's the highest praise
a breeder can give. The cow you could breed to
anything. It means she was so genetically dominant,
so structurally correct that she fixed the flaws
of any bull you used on her. You didn't have
to protect her. She did the work. So connecting
this to the modern day. We're sitting here in
2026. The industry has changed so much. We have
genomics, we have sex semen, we have IVF. Why
does the story of snow boots still matter to
the farmer listening right now? It matters because
the industry is struggling with the exact things
snow boots excelled at, fertility and longevity.
We've spent 40 years breeding for extreme angularity
and milk speed, and we lost some of that toughness.
We have cows that milk like crazy, but burn out
after two lactations. We have heifers that are
hard to get bred. Snow boots is the blueprint
we are trying to get back to. She's the proof
that you don't have to sacrifice production for
durability. Exactly, and her descendants prove
it too. Bulls like astronauts, starbuck, Rudolph,
these are giants of the breed. They all trace
back to the decisions made around this one cow.
When you see a cow today that has that perfect
blend of strength and dairiness, that will to
live and will to work, there's a good chance
you're seeing a little bit of snow boots coming
through. She put the strength back into the Holstein
breed when it was getting too frail. It's just
amazing to think that a decision made on a wheat
farm in Kansas to put a $75 calf in a gunny sack
because her mom had short teats is still affecting
the milk that's in our fridge today. It's the
butterfly effect, or I guess the snow boots effect.
It's a reminder that genetics is a long game.
Decisions you make today can ripple out for 50
years. All right, let's wrap this up with our
takeaways. Someone's listening to this on their
tractor right now. Maybe they're looking at a
pen of their own calves. What is the one thing
from this story they should sit with? I think
it's the definition of a brood cow versus a show
cow. We all love the ribbons. We all love the
flashy win at Madison, but ribbons fade. They
gather dust on the mantle. Right. A true brood
cow, a cow like snow boots. She breeds back.
She milks 200 ,000 pounds. She passes those traits
on. That is what builds a farm. That is what
pays the mortgage. at the end of the day. And
maybe, just maybe, keep an eye out for the ugly
duckling. Absolutely. Don't overlook the gunny
sack calves. Sometimes the rough start or the
calf that looks a little different holds the
best genetics. Trust your eye. Trust your intuition.
And value that old -fashioned durability. In
a high -speed genomic world, a cow that lasts
for 14 years is worth her weight in gold. That's
a powerful thought. the invisible profit maker
might be standing right in front of you, disguised
in a $75 package. She just might be. That's another
story from the Bull Vine podcast. These are the
people and the cows building the future of dairy.
And if you want to see pictures of snow boots,
and you really should, just to see that depth
of rib we talked about, head over to www .thebullvine
.com. Find more at www .thebullvine .com. Next
time, we're talking to a breeder who bet the
farm on a red cow when black and white was the
only game in town. You won't want to miss it.
Subscribe so you don't miss it. Thanks for listening.
See you next time. In the show ring thunder too,
the quiet strength they knew Hear their stories
now, coming right on through Oh, tell the tale,
tell the tale, the Bourbon legends live here