I was really looking forward to my next blog post being all warm and fuzzy. Alas, life isn’t always warm and fuzzy. My Opal just had a set of twins and I was all prepared to share them with the world and whine about them both being bull calves. Then I had a change of perspective.
Birth is always a celebration and death is always difficult, of this I am sure. I have fought to bring many calves into this world, a bovine midwife of sorts. I have also fought to keep them here, doctoring and holding them as they breathed their last. However, I have never had to end one from suffering. That was a job that either nature had or my husband.
I left that morning for the Farmer’s market with everything buttoned up. Everyone was fed, watered and set for the day. Cows were milked and happily eating, calves were running around playing, horses were grazing while chickens and ducks foraged around. All was well and right.
I came home to a different scene all together.
I pulled up to our gate and noticed the cows all circled around, heads down and several were bellowing. A bellow is not a moo, it’s not even a forlorn “I’m alone” moo. It’s something from deep down in a cow, a panic, a worry, a frantic Momma moo. I first learned this moo when tagging beef calves. Some Mommas are fine with youdoing a “once over” to make sure the calf is healthy and putting a tag in their ear to identify them, some are not. Some see you as a threat and bellow out of protection. Let’s just say, sometimes the bluff works and sometimes it’s not a bluff.
Either way, I know the distress call. So do other cows. It’s also amazing to me that my cows know this information that is embedded deep in their DNA. You see, my cows have never raised a calf until they come to my place. When I get them from my friend that has a commercial dairy, they’ve given birth and calves are separated within 24 hours. The calves are given their mother’s milk, but she doesn’t actually raise them. Here it’s a little different. Even those that have bull calves are allowed to be a Momma for a week or two and then I sell the calf. If they have a heifer, then depending on the cow she might raise it or I might graft on to another cow. Right now my daughter’s 4H heifer calf is on Helga, her adopted Momma. Helga is towards the end of her lactation, so she’s not milking a whole bunch, Briar Rose (Rosie) needs a Momma for a few months, it is a perfect fit.
In the case of these twin bull calves, they had 2 Mommas. Opal was birth Momma, and Abbie was acting as wet nurse. Opal gave birth and care, but she was so engorged with milk, the calves just couldn’t latch on. Abbie came to investigate, and calves gravitated over and started sucking. This is where I had to step in. I had to milk Opal, give the babies colostrums and give Opal relief from being engorged. After the first day of this routine, the usual swelling started to go down and the calves were also sucking Opal. Co-Mothering is progressive in the human world, but quite seamless in the bovine. Both Mothered both calves, both calves sucked both Mothers.
So now, both Mothers bellowed over the same calf. Both were panicked, both were worried.
I crawled through the fence in a panic myself. I pushed cows out of the way to find a calf on the ground, alive, but suffering. He was acting like a seizure, but not stopping. He was just thrashing his legs as if he was running, eyes rolling back while blinking, grunting, no bladder control, and then I finally saw a little blood in his ear. He had been hit, or kicked. Something happened while I was gone, I may never know. He was suffering and had been for who knows how long. There was no medicine I could give, no hope of recovery, no old farmer remedy, no magic rabbit to pull out, nothing. I could do nothing to fix this calf. A vet was well over an hour away with any meds to put the calf down. My heart sank. I grabbed my pistol.
My heart was in my throat, but I knew what had to be done. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer any longer. The Momma in me took over, I was a hard emotion to have, but I had to stop the pain. I pushed the cows out of the way and pulled the trigger. I instantly gave a shout mixed with tears and heaved the breath deep in my chest. I leaned on the nearest fence post and cried. When I looked up I saw my 5 year old boy, crying, asking why I killed our baby calf. Well, that went from worse to terrible real quick. So with tears, we sat down and had the hard conversation about sometimes decisions are hard, but necessary when it’s our job to care for animals.
I left the calf with the Mommas for a few minutes. The panic had passed. The suffering was gone. The whole herd settled. I went back told my girls sorry and removed the calf.
The next morning was a beautiful Mother’s Day. My kids crawled into bed with me and showered me with hugs and kisses. In the background, I heard the forlorn grieving Mommas calling for the lost calf and pacing the pasture looking. They had one to love, but knew something was missing. I know that feeling. I had 4 babies in my bed that morning, but 2 were missing.
I’ve said so many times I’m always learning from my animals. In the last week I’ve learned many more things.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a bull or heifer, their lives still matter, even if they are not destined to live that life here.
It really does take a village to raise babies, or a herd.
It’s ok to openly mourn that which has been lost while caring for that which is here.
