By Bettina Sperry
I slipped the band over the four prongs and went to work. Catching the little fella meant putting a collar around his neck, attaching a lead rope, and spending time letting him get to know me. He was receptive when I called him. He’d come running over, a sort of playful hop with his long hind legs, and sniffed me before returning to his mother.
His name is Panda, but I call him Pandie. After a few minutes, I was able to lay him down on his side and rub his belly. He was 3 days old. I practiced lifting his legs so that he was comfortable with being handled. When he was finally fully relaxed, I lowered the boom. I slipped the band over his testicles. Job done. Pandie, my new bull calf, would soon be castrated.
Last year’s winter was so harsh that many local farmers lost calves to sub-zero temperatures, snow, and ice. I didn’t want to face that, so elected an early spring calving among my cows. I had recently purchased his mother and the anticipated calving date was during March. There was no understanding on my part of what to expect, except that most of winter would be over before I’d have little calves running around on my farm. There was plenty time to learn about calving, and having them in spring would at least eliminate predictable cold weather problems.
It all started when I was driving down the road and looked over at my cows lying in hay sunning themselves. Franklin Hill #5 had a red protruding rear end that didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen. I was en route to pick up the state mare inspector for my thoroughbreds when I made the call to my veterinarian’s office. “Something is wrong with my cow.” She wasn’t due until March, so it couldn’t possibly be anything related to calving.
Being the responsible farmer that I am, I rushed down the road to find my visitor, hoping to rush back. On the way to find her, I called and asked the inspector what she was driving. “Is it the red truck?”
“No. It’s a nondescript, sort of a metal-gray color Yukon.”
Well, I thought, that should make it easy. How many nondescript metal-gray Yukons can there be in this one-stoplight, one-gas station of a town? I arrived at the gas station and looked around. There were quite a few cars lining the store front and post office. Several were off to the side and some were at the gas tanks. One was sitting across the street. “What are all these cars doing?” I got a little confused and looked around again. There were several SUVs present. I sat in my car for what seemed longer than a minute or two. Almost like a puzzle, What am I looking for again? My mind was wandering from vehicle to vehicle. Then I noticed the text she had just sent me:
To save confusion when you get here…we are in the Yukon that does not have dead deer on top.Dead deer on top?
I saw a metal-gray Yukon. Oh, that must be her! No! Wait!
There they were. The long, brown legs were dangling over the edge above the windows stretching from front to back of the metal-gray Yukon. The thick bodies rounded along the roof top, adding height to the SUV, fashioned as if they belonged there – as if they were painted on – as if they were on display or making a statement. It said everything manhood. I stared dumfounded.
A strangely gut-wrenching sight this was. The heads were draped over the window, eyes glaring forward. “Wow,” I remember uttering, “It’s the two dead deer on top of a metal-gray Yukon.” Almost like being at a carnival of the absurd and surrealistic. Okay. Hunting season. Manhood, trucks, tractors, rifles, and deer go hand in hand in this part of the country.
Almost equally absurd, I knew I had to find another SUV that looked just like that one, but without the deer attached. What a thought.
I looked to the left and there was the other metal-gray Yukon. Is it okay to get out of my car? Wondering if she’d be in the vehicle or if I’d find something strange in that one, too. I tiptoed over to this other metal-gray Yukon.
“Is that you?”
Oh, yes it was her! Whew, thankfully so.
“By the way,” I said, “I have an emergency at home with one of my cows.” I never turned to look back at the other metal-gray Yukon with the dead deer atop. I just drove away, and away, and away.
We rushed back to my home. I called the vet again and we determined that my visitor would be able to help assess the problem with FH #5. We walked the pasture towards the cow. Much to my surprise, my visitor told me the cow was near calving. She showed me cow parts that I hadn’t seen before, the spreading vulva and the protruding bubble. Geez, I was not ready for this. It was Monday morning and my first day home for the Thanksgiving break. The week was fully scheduled, thus hardly time to process the arrival of a new calf.
As life would present itself, a major snow storm was on the way. On Tuesday, a local neighbor and cattle farmer stopped by to check up on things. I made mention that FH #5 was unexpectedly calving and he said we should stall her because of the incoming storm, so as to be able to keep an eye on the birthing process.
We rounded her up and put her in the barn. I gave her hay and water and then started the two-day watch of her rear end. My question was, Exactly when was it coming? How would I know? What would I look for?
Between giving hay and watering and checking and looking and making observations, a lot of reading and reviewing of articles on calving ensued. Being the scholar that I am, I scoured for tidbits of information in each article that I read. Not one of them had all the information that I needed, and recognizing this, I slowly pieced together what would inform me of the exact moment labor would begin.
For two days I would run back and forth between the computer and the barn, checking and observing and weighing the evidence. It quickly became clear that I had enough data about pins, feces size and shape, udders and teats, shaking and jiggling vulvas, and loose hind ends. I gave her a good bedding of straw, knowing that time was near.
It was Thanksgiving and the snow storm dropped 14 to 18 inches in the area. In my high rubber boots, I made my way to the barn. I found her lying down, groaning, and clearly having contractions. At that point, I stayed with her for a long time and monitored her every move. At one point, when she got up to eat hay, I went back to the house to complete a few chores.
When I returned to check on her, she turned to me as if to say, “You are back, AGAIN??” Humbled, I sat down and recognized that she seemed to have everything under control. She wanted some privacy and quiet. It was early evening and I exhaustedly walked back home and went to sleep. Something told me that everything would be all right.
At 5 o’clock the next morning I wandered out to the barn and opened the stall door. Peace had settled over the barn. The cow was very calm and lying down. I peered into the corner between the cow and the wall and saw a little black shadow of a figure. The new calf had been born.
Panda also brings a reminder of the adventure the farming life offers.
| Copyright © 2014 by Bettina Sperry |
What a blow to learn that Panda's destiny is to be eaten! Farmers who love their animals and even sort of bond with them are in for a sad time later....
ReplyDeleteBut, as my wife points out, we all eventually get eaten...if only by worms and other small organisms in the soil.
It is all so very true, Morris.
ReplyDelete