Jan. 19, 2004 ~ Cow babies
Karen was a sweet young heifer, heavy with her first calf. After a week of near seventy degree temperatures, yesterday was rainy, windy and cold. So it figured that Karen's calf would choose that day to be born. And it figured that there would be trouble. Or so Husband thought. I am admittedly the champion worrier in our family, worrying about things that would never even occur to most people. But Husband has me beat when it comes to the animals. Don't know why, but there it is. He tends to see the worst possible outcome, where I usually see the best. Very unlike me, truth to tell. He is usually the voice of calm and reason, but when it comes to the animals, I often wind up slowing him down, asking him to wait, to give it time.
(Warning -- this might be a little gross, so if you are sensitive, you may want to skip it.)
He'd been out in the cold and rain, feeding the cows, and he came to the back door and hollered for me, panic in his voice. Karen was in labor, and being her first calf, she was pretty frantic about it. Instead of lying down calmly, she was actually running, crazy with fear and pain, while the calf was beginning to emerge. Two hooves were out, and Husband said she had been that way a long, long time, with no progress. Also, the "stuff" hanging out of her looked old. He feared the calf was in distress or already dead.
"The vet said to give it thirty minutes to an hour," I quoted, recalling difficult deliveries from the past, "and if there's no progress in that time, there's a problem."
"It's probably already BEEN that long!" he said.
"Let's wait. The vet said watch and wait. Please?"
We checked the clock, and he went out to watch the heifer, who he had in the pen behind the house. I watched the minutes tick past in our bedroom, and when it was nearly thirty minutes, I gave up and started dressing for the outdoors. Put on a coat and rain poncho, plus dork boots and a cap. It was nearly dark, and Husband was afraid he'd have to pull the calf, so I figured I'd best get out there. But just as I was walking out the door, he came in, smiling, and said she'd had the calf. It looked fine. Sometimes we wait and it turns out fine; sometimes we do have to help with the delivery. In this case, we were lucky.
I stood out there in the misting rain, maybe ten feet from cow and calf, and just watched. Funny how nature takes care of these things. Instinct had kicked in, and Karen was licking her new baby dry, or trying to. Every time she got one side nearly done, the calf would try to stand, would slip and fall back into the mud, and Karen would start all over again.
We kept them in the pen last night, and this morning bright and early, Husband went to turn them out with the herd. Karen ran straight out the gate, leaving her baby behind. Silly thing. Husband picked up the calf and carried her (we think it's a "her," but we'll know for sure when we see it in the daylight) out to the herd. Sheesh. He came back and told me about it while I was still snuggled deep under the covers, warm and dry. I went back to sleep, and didn't think much about it, till I put on his barn coat and noticed something icky on the sleeve. Thinking Meadow had rolled in something unpleasant and it had rubbed off on me, I looked Meadow over. She was clean and dry. Then it dawned on me that Husband had carried the calf, and, well, calves will be calves. Hopefully, though, Karen will remember her baby from now on, and keep up with her.
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