08/01/2026
❤️Terry
Today, we gather to remember and celebrate the life of Terry Butler, someone who meant so much to so many. Terry was more than just a friend—he was family by choice, a source of laughter, strength, kindness, and knowledge.
Terry had a way of making people feel welcome, heard, and valued. Whether through a simple conversation, a shared laugh, or simply being there when it mattered most, he left a lasting mark on everyone fortunate enough to know him. He never met a stranger.
I’ll always cherish the memories we created together—the moments of joy, the challenges we faced, and the unwavering friendship that carried us through both. Those memories are gifts that time can never take away.
Although Terry’s passing leaves a space that can never truly be filled, his spirit lives on in the love he shared, the lives he touched, and the lessons he taught us about compassion, loyalty, and friendship.
But the memories he gave us, the friendships he built, and the lives he touched will never leave us. They will live on every time we gather around a show ring, every time we talk pedigrees, every time we tell a Terry Butler story, and every time we hear one of his sayings and can’t help but smile.
One of my favorite memories with Terry takes me back to the Missouri State Fair. I was judging the spotted boars and had selected my Grand Champion. Secretly, I was trying to figure out a way to get that boar bought because I thought he was something special.
But Terry wasn’t convinced. In true Terry fashion, he looked at that Grand Champion and said, “He’s too short.” Instead, he had his eye on the Reserve Champion. No matter what anyone else thought, Terry trusted his own instincts and wasn’t afraid to go against the crowd.
As it turned out, I never had a chance at buying my Grand Champion anyway—it sold for more than $10,000. Meanwhile, Terry bought the Reserve Champion for just $300.
You would have thought he’d won the lottery. He was like a kid on Christmas morning. He named that boar Bubba, and if you spent much time with Terry afterward, chances are you heard about Bubba more than once. He loved telling the story, talking about that boar, and sharing how proud he was of the purchase.
That story captures who Terry was. He had an incredible eye for livestock, confidence in his own judgment, and a genuine love for what he did. For Terry, it was never just about ribbons or price tags. It was about seeing something special, believing in it, and finding joy in the animals he raised. That passion was contagious, and it’s one of the many reasons he will be remembered so fondly.
Another memory that always makes me smile started when I stopped by Terry’s place to look at the truckload he had put together for the National Barrow Show. As we walked by his show barn, there stood an outstanding spotted boar.
I asked, “Terry, what’s that one?”
He smiled and said, “That was my National Barrow Show boar, but I didn’t go because I was sick.”
I asked him, “So what are you going to do with him?”
In typical Terry fashion, he shrugged and said, “Hell, I don’t know if I can even get him collected.”
Without hesitation, I told him, “I want him at my place. You can use all the semen you want.”
About a month later, I went back to pick him up. When I got there, Terry invited me inside and said, “Let me finish my game of cards with Pam.” That’s who Terry was. No matter what was going on, there was always time for family, friends, and a card game.
After the game, we headed outside to load the boar. What we thought would take a few minutes turned into more than 45 minutes of chasing that boar all over the yard.
At one point, he squeezed into a narrow spot between the panels, knocked me flat on my back, and I landed right on top of Terry. I helped him up, handed him his glasses, and asked, “Are you alright?”
He looked at me, started that unmistakable Terry laugh—“Hee, hee, hee”—and said he was just fine.
Then he came up with a new plan. “I think we’re going to have to bring some gilts along with the boar to get him on your trailer.”
Of course, Terry was right. We brought the gilts over, and the boar finally loaded.
That boar was named Built Right, even though, as Terry liked to joke, he “didn’t have a tight joint in his body.” He was over a year old, stubborn as could be, and every bit as ornery as Terry himself.
When I think about that day, I don’t just remember loading a boar. I remember laughing until we could hardly stand up. I remember Terry’s grin, his “hee, hee, hee” laugh, his knack for solving problems in his own way, and the friendship we shared. Those are the memories that stay with us. Those are the moments that remind us how lucky we were to have Terry in our lives.
If you knew Terry, you probably remember some of the things he’d say that could make you laugh no matter the situation.
You might hear him call a boar a “little twinkie-headed mongrel crossbred,” and if he said it with that grin, you knew he was probably giving you a hard time because he liked you.
Or he’d shake his head and say, “Boy, oh boy, so-and-so better be careful.” You never knew exactly what was coming next, but you knew he was speaking from experience and teaching you a valuable lesson.
And when the conversation turned to cattle, Terry would confidently remind you, “A white-uddered cow will raise the biggest calf.” Whether you agreed with him or not didn’t really matter. Terry believed what he believed, and he wasn’t afraid to tell you.
But my favorite Terry saying came near the end. The last time I visited Terry and Pam, he got that familiar twinkle in his eye, smiled that unmistakable smile, and said, “I’ve made them pretty damn good.” That was Terry. Proud of the livestock he’d bred, proud of the life he’d lived, and proud of the legacy he was leaving behind.
When I think about Terry, I won’t just remember the National Barrow Show, the Iowa State Fair, Bubba, or the adventure of loading Built Right. I’ll remember that twinkle in his eye, that unmistakable “hee, hee, hee” laugh, and the countless conversations that always seemed to end with a story, a lesson, or a laugh.
The barns will seem a little quieter. The aisles at the Iowa State Fair won’t feel quite the same. The National Barrow Show will never be quite what it was without Terry walking through the pens, visiting with friends, and talking hogs.
But I know he will have a front row seat to every hog show and tune in to every auction from heaven above.
Rest easy, my friend. We’ll miss your wisdom, your laughter, your stubbornness, and that twinkle in your eye. Thank you for the memories. They will live on in our hearts forever.
