May. 21, 2003 ~ Tail first
We generally don't worry too much when the cows are in labor. They can nearly always manage just fine on their own, thank you. They prefer solitude when giving birth, and tend to find a quiet, out-of-the-way spot, off by themselves.
Belinda Jo appeared to be in labor yesterday morning, but then I didn't see her again for awhile, so I assumed she was off in the woods doing what came naturally.
Last night I was just starting to prepare dinner. Had the fresh new potatoes (courtesy of our neighbors) in the pot, and was planning to go out to the garden and pick some squash, but it didn't quite work out that way. Husband knocked on the kitchen window and said, "Belinda -- just one foot." Meaning that she was in labor, but just one foot was sticking out. That's the way it's supposed to begin... first a foot, then the second foot, then the nose, the head, and body. From the time you see the foot, you should see the second foot within half an hour or so, or something could be wrong. I assumed that too much time had passed, so I quickly turned off the stove, changed out of my shorts and into sweats, put on my rubber boots and headed out.
The cows went a little crazy last night, for reasons known only to them, and they ran all over creation before they finally came into the pen. Eventually we had Belinda alone in the pen, and sure enough, when she had a contraction, there was just the one small hoof.
"Honey, I think the foot is upside down," I said.
And it was. This meant one of two things, neither choice really good. It meant the calf was upside down, head first, or upside down, butt first. The fact that only one foot was coming out meant that the other foot was turned wrong, wasn't pointed in the right direction, so the calf couldn't be born without assistance. The head could have been turned wrong, too. There's really only one way to find out, and that's to reach up inside the cow and feel around. Yes, it's very unpleasant. Extremely so. And it's not too comfortable for the cow, either. But Belinda was in considerable distress, breathing rapidly, and her eyes were wild with pain. So she didn't object when Husband reached inside and evaluated the situation. He got hold of both feet, I got a soft rope, and he tied the rope around the feet.
"Do you feel the head?" I asked.
"No."
This could be good or bad. If the head is there and turned wrong, you need to find that out before you start pulling.
"What about the tail, can you feel the tail?"
"Can't feel that either," he replied.
"How about feeling the leg, to see if it's a front leg or a back leg?"
"Back leg!"
"You're sure?" I asked.
"Positive."
This meant we absolutely had to pull the calf, and it was relatively safe to do so. We knew the calf was still alive, because it kept pulling its legs away from Husband, who by now was up to his armpit in the cow. It was not a pretty picture, but it's just one of those things.
With each contraction, he pulled hard on the rope, and was able to get more and more of the calf's legs out, until the tail was visible. Then more of the legs, and finally, the hips, then moments later, the rest of the body. It was a pretty black heifer, with a white star on her forehead and white stockings on her back feet. A very big girl.
Mama cow licked her right away, which is an excellent sign. Sometimes, when you pull a calf, the mama doesn't bond with it. That didn't seem to be a problem here, though.
We got cleaned up, ate dinner, and right before bed, came out for one last look at the new baby, who was right where we'd left her. Her mother, however, was nowhere to be seen. That was odd. And bad. Cows don't ordinarily leave newborn calves, especially not at night. That baby was coyote bait, there by herself.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to find cows in the dark, in the woods, with only a dim flashlight? But we found the herd, and sure enough, Belinda Jo was right there with them, just like she hadn't had a calf at all. Husband got her headed down the mountain towards where the calf was, and she got all the way there, then turned and bolted into the woods. Husband said some ugly, ugly words.
"She'll come back to the calf, I'm pretty sure," he said. "But I'm going to the house. There's not much else we can do now."
So we went to bed, but I couldn't sleep, and wound up getting up about midnight to go see the baby. She was still alone, but trying to sleep. I hoped that she would be okay, since she was right next to the pen where the horses were. Maybe their presence would keep the coyotes at bay.
At five o'clock this morning, I went out to check on the baby, fearing the worst, hoping for the best. But there was no baby. I shined the light on the ground where she had been. No blood, so she probably hadn't been eaten. But I didn't see her, or her mama, or the herd. Something in the next pasture caught my eye, though, and sure enough, there was that little girl, in a completely different pasture, with the heifers. After the age of six months, heifers have to be separated from the herd, otherwise, they would breed too young. So they were in a pasture apart from the main herd, and the baby must have climbed through the fence to be with them. Smart girl, that one, with a strong will to live. The herd instinct is strong, in cattle. Safety in numbers. But clearly, we had a problem.
Husband went off into the woods again, flashlight in hand, but by now, the sky was growing lighter, which helped a lot. We got Belinda into the pen, then we got her calf into the pen, and suddenly, she was mother of the year. How dare we try to touch her baby! What were we doing to her child?! The calf tried and tried to nurse, and eventually figured it out, and went to town, her tail wiggling happily back and forth.
Husband went on to work; I sat and watched mother and baby for a while, then went in the house. Belinda and her calf bonded so well that I felt safe letting them out with the herd. Sure enough, the baby trotted right alongside her mother, and went out to meet all her aunties and cousins and her daddy.
All's well that ends well, and so far, it looks like we're going to have our happy ending. Good thing. All this cowboy/cowgirl stuff is pretty tough, and Husband and I have all kinds of new aches and pains today.
But she is such a pretty baby.
She's worth all the trouble, and then some.
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