Marvin Frink is walking through a field of bright green sorghum grass beneath a scorching North Carolina sun. He turns toward a nearby pasture where his herd of Angus cattle are grazing and lets out a loud whoop in their direction: “Whoo-hoo! Let’s go!” he calls.
At the sound of his voice, the cattle erupt in a chorus of moos. Slowly, one animal, then another, and finally the entire herd ambles across the field toward Frink, surrounding him. He points toward a few at the front and rattles off their names: Grace, Mercy, Daisy — the last one named in honor of his grandmother.
“Once I had someone come here who said to me, ‘Man that’s a lot of beef,'” Frink, 53, tells PEOPLE. “But I don’t see them like that. These are my counselors. Cows don’t judge us for what we’ve been through.”