He was born to a family who already had two daughters in District 10. He was their first boy, and they were proud. But his parents soon noticed his flaw: he had a crippled leg. He could barely stand. How could he take care of the herds?
He started when he was three. Like most boys his age, he ran around with the cattle. His family had cows. He didn't really run, of course, it was more of an erratic hopping. He rode on an old cow they had: Annabella. She was like a horse to him, and by nudging her side; he'd direct her wherever he wanted to go. She'd already had four calves, and was gentle enough to let the boy sit on her back.
Every year, in summer, the Collectors came around and picked five animals of every species to take to the slaughterhouse. The Collectors picked the animals deemed unfit: the ones who had already had many calves, or who were too old to give out milk.
The milk was also given to the Collectors, so it was in their best interest to let the best milk producers live. Every year, during the Collectors' visit, he'd fear for Annabella's life. She was his legs. One day, she stopped giving milk.
He was twelve. She stopped giving milk one week before the Collectors arrived. He barely had time to say goodbye to Annabella. She was gone fast, and after they took her away, she was mooing pitifully. He couldn't watch as the doors of the cow truck closed on his best friend.
His parents were angry with him for mourning a cow. There would be more cows. It was just an animal. Besides, it was what they did. They took care of them until they were taken away. They were the herders.
The boy left. He went to work with pig herders. Pigs were smaller, but didn't have the gentleness of his cows. They were wickedly smart, and fast. He hobbled along beside them, trying to keep up. Everyone laughed at the boy with the crippled leg, who was outrun by a mere pig.
By the time he was fourteen he left this job again. He rarely ever saw his family, only briefly during the Reapings and holidays. He worked with sheep now. They were kept in a small enclosure, so there was less running to do. They lay around tiredly, not bothering to even try to move. He felt bad for them. They were cramped up so that all the motion they could to was lie down and stand, and even that was difficult.
When he was fifteen he was fired, replaced by someone who could actually walk. He went back home and was greeted happily. One of his older sisters had died, and he had a new little brother. He cared for him and tried to play with him, but his leg stopped him from playing any active games with the little boy.
His brother died the next year. He died from starvation, or hunger. It was never clear exactly why people died. When he cried again his parents thought him weak. He was kicked out of the house, sixteen and jobless.
He went to work for an old man who cared for a few goats. He learned to love the goats and care for them. They had enough space to roam, and for the first time since Annabella's death, he felt happy. He could almost hear their thoughts, and they were great friends to him. Of course, the goat-keeper was old, and he died a year later. The boy had to watch the goats be taken away by the Collectors, bleating in terror.
He was eighteen by then. His life had been just one big collection of bad luck after bad luck. He expected everything to go wrong. He was still surprised, though, on his last year of the Reaping, when his name was pulled out of the bowl.