HLM – Chapter 930 Farm Inspection

One benefit of joining the Stubborn Bull Club was that buying cattle and sheep became extremely easy. They had abundant, high-quality internal resources. Wang Bo originally planned to contact a ranch specializing in dairy cows and goats and have Peterson pick some out.

But when Leonard heard he wanted a batch of dairy cattle and goats, he said, “You’re in luck, buddy. We’re just about to hold an auction for dairy cows and goats. There are some fine ones in there—I bet you’ll like them.”

Wang Bo asked, “When is the auction? And where? I’m preparing to return to China soon. You know, according to our customs, it’s about to be the most important festival of the year.”

“Spring Festival, I know. Last time we worked with your country on the white yak project, we experienced a Spring Festival party. What an incredible feast that was,” Leonard said with a laugh. “But you’ll make it in time—the auction is in two days.”

The auction would be held in Culverden. It wasn’t really that Wang Bo was lucky to run into it—Culverden hosted an agricultural and livestock auction every few days.

Wang Bo calculated the timing. If he attended the auction, he could fly home afterward, and he’d still make it in time. So he readily agreed.

Mid-January, in a hazy drizzle, the helicopter flew toward Culverden. Besides attending the dairy livestock auction, he also wanted to inspect his own farm.

As the helicopter flew over the farmland, Wang Bo picked up binoculars and looked down.

Large patches of barren land now stretched across his property—no longer the scene of abundant harvest it once had been.

It was late summer and early autumn, the best season. The surrounding farms were filled with lush crops. When the wind blew, waves of wheat rolled back and forth, golden and fragrant, creating a magnificent harvest scene.

Wang Bo remembered that in his hometown, autumn was the season for harvesting peanuts and corn; wheat was harvested in summer. He didn’t know what variety of wheat New Zealand grew that could still be growing now.

He knew nothing about farming here—and had no intention of studying it.

After the helicopter landed, he saw up close that the neatly divided plots of land held fragile, tender saplings—the early stages of his grand orchard project.

He had barely stepped onto the ground when a pack of Alaskan sled dogs came running excitedly toward him. These creatures had big heads, big mouths, big paws, and massive bodies—charging like a pack of wolves.

Wang Bo spread his arms. One huge Alaskan leapt onto him, its weight nearly knocking him over. “Oh, buddy, you’re all really strong now… whoa, whoa!”

Then the others jumped too, piling onto him like a human tower. The force was overwhelming, and he was knocked flat onto the ground.

Alaskan sled dogs were known in China as “demolition team captains.” They were energetic and frighteningly enthusiastic. After knocking Wang Bo down, they didn’t stop—they swarmed him, licking his face nonstop.

Peterson shivered instinctively. “Shit, this is terrifying… like a pack of wolves ripping into a sheep.”

“More like a pack of horny wolves overwhelming a little white sheep?” Charlie joked.

Cousins shrugged. “You said exactly what I was thinking.”

“Isn’t that a bit disgusting?”

“Sorry, we uneducated cowboys are like that.”

Wang Bo had hired twenty farmhands to help watch over the farm—not to guard against thieves, but to deal with wild rabbits, mice, and deer.

Now the farm’s perimeter was fenced with wire, and several rotten rabbits and mice hung from it. The farmhand leader, Beach Randolph, said, “These are the kids’ masterpieces. They’re amazing—if a rabbit or mouse shows up on the farm, it can’t escape their ears.”

The “kids” were the Alaskan sled dogs. They had been adopted by the previous owner, Vince, and had become the main guardians of the farm.

Culverden had the most famous ski mountains on the South Island and plenty of sled dogs—but none could compare to Wang Bo’s.

Looking at these strong, powerful dogs, Wang Bo fetched some chicken jerky sticks and tossed them as rewards.

Randolph then briefed him on the farm’s situation. All the plantations were progressing smoothly, with a seedling sprouting rate beyond expectations. The saplings had already emerged, and in a few years, a dense orchard would be formed.

Wang Bo nodded, pleased. Then he paused and asked, “If I take the sled dogs away, will that disrupt your work?”

Randolph froze, then said reluctantly, “Yes, boss. The sled dogs do many things we can’t. They’re not here for security—we have full surveillance systems. They’re crucial for handling rabbits and mice.”

Wang Bo wanted to take the sled dogs to Alaska to compete in the Iditarod sled dog race. Zhuang Ding and the Queen alone couldn’t handle this work. The ranch did have Rottweilers, but they weren’t suited for sled work—and he needed sixteen dogs for the race; there weren’t enough Rottweilers.

After some thought, he said, “If it’s just for rabbits and mice, I’ll send another suitable breed for that. I need to take these kids to Alaska.”

Randolph instantly understood. “You’re competing in the Iditarod sled dog race?”

Wang Bo nodded. “Yes. I want them to show what they can do.”

Randolph immediately changed his stance. “They absolutely should! They belong on the world’s top snow-and-ice stage. I’m sure they’ll come home as champions.”

Wang Bo asked, “You know the race that well?”

Randolph laughed. “Yes, boss. Here in Culverden, all dog owners know the race well. We send out at least five teams every year—and we’ve won several times.”

Culverden’s snowy mountains had nurtured a community of sled-dog race enthusiasts and many dogs skilled in snow survival.

For dealing with rabbits and mice, Alaskan sled dogs weren’t ideal anyway. Wang Bo called Gerald back home and asked him to start raising several litters of Dogo Argentinos—the best hunting dogs.

After inspecting the farm for a while, Wang Bo left for the auction.

He had just driven off in the farm’s pickup truck when a Toyota SUV approached. Someone waved. When he stopped, the man asked: “Hello, sir. Does the old Vince farm belong to you now?”