You’ve met One-Toe. Now meet her legacy, the Toe Sisters:
 
Two-Toes, replacement heifer from the 2014 calves

​Three-Toes, replacement heifer from 2015

And Four-Toes, calved last fall—probably a keeper.

Yes, our name and numbering systems appear to be a little out-of-whack. From the pictures, you would expect that Two-Toes would be number 261. But that couldn’t happen because we already had a Cow 261 in the herd for several years. To eliminate confusion, Two-Toes would have to be Cow 161.
 
When One-Toe joined our herd as a replacement heifer her number, 5261, was branded on her right rump roast. For purposes of record-keeping, Bill shortened her number to 61. She never had an ear tag because of the branded number; plus, we could always tell who she was by her limp, caused by the amputated toe. Baby calves in our herd are all ear-tagged with the mother’s number to keep track of the family pairs. The lucky heifers who are selected to join the herd as replacement heifers will later have their calf tags removed and a larger cow tag inserted with a new number, using the cow’s number as a base to track the family genetics. Hence, One-Toe’s (Cow 61) daughters are numbered 161, 361 and 461, leaving out 261 as explained earlier.
 
Here are more pics from the family album:
 
One-Toe and Two-Toes from fall 2014. Two-Toes is only 2 days old. 

Three-Toes from fall 2015

Even though One-Toe and her daughters all spent the winter together in our pasture, a family group picture was just not possible. Although I did miss a Kodak moment late one afternoon when I returned from walking and all three Toe Sisters were at the stock tank getting a drink. Four-Toes was lapping water from the running hydrant, a trick I think she learned from Two-Toes! Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera.
 
The Toe Sisters all have One-Toe’s gentle nature and, with the exception of Three-Toes, will eat range cubes from our hands. Three-Toes likes these nutritious treats but, so far, prefers to eat hers on the ground. But we’re working on that!
 
Speaking of range cubes, I’ve always wondered why they’re called “cubes” when they’re actually cylindrical or pellet-shaped.

I researched this question and found an image of some cube-shaped range cubes, called “cakes,” but most were like those shown above. Never found an answer to my question so the issue will remain one of the great mysteries of farm life! Whatever the name or shape, these protein supplements are a handy training and gathering method: Once our cattle are introduced to these treats, if Bill puts some in a plastic bucket and shakes it, they will follow him anywhere. It’s much gentler and less stressful than herding or driving from behind to get them where you want them to go.
 
Bill is undecided about whether or not to keep One-Toe. She’s about 12 years old and more susceptible to diseases such as anaplasmosis, a bacterial infection that attacks the red blood cells, causing loss of appetite, weakness and anemia. If not caught early and treated, the animal eventually dies. Unfortunately, we have lost three cows to this disease but now keep a closer watch for symptoms.
 
There is also the issue of One-Toe’s lack of mobility. Sometimes she struggles but still seems to get where she wants to go. She wouldn’t bring much in the culled cow market. That said, she was bred in January and would calve this fall. She’s a good mom and raises great calves. She could even have another heifer, Five-Toes!
 
Whether or not One-Toe remains with us or is culled after spring weaning, we still have her daughters, the Toe Sisters.

One-Toe had a difficult start as a replacement heifer in our herd. Here is her story as told in my book.
 
Foot Rot 101—A hoof infection that occurs when the skin between the two toes on a hoof is either punctured due to injury or softened by prolonged contact with moisture, such as during a rainy spell. Bacteria invade the hoof area and, if left untreated, can result in lameness and poor weight gain due to the animal’s immobility. The bacterial infection can also spread to other animals in the area.
 
We’ve had a few minor instances of foot rot in our cattle, but most were easily treated with an antibiotic injection that cleared it up in a few days. However, one occurrence got away from us.
 
In 2006, Bill bought some replacement heifers and turned them out to grass on one of the rental pastures. During late July and early August, he was busy with his job and putting up hay so didn’t check on them for a week. They weren’t due to calve until around Labor Day so he wasn’t particularly concerned. When he got to the pasture, one of the heifers was limply badly, favoring one hind leg. He looked her over and couldn’t see any sign of an injury so he assumed it was foot rot. He came home, hitched up the stock trailer, went back to the pasture, loaded her up and brought her home. He gave her an antibiotic injection and took her back to the pasture.
 
Bill checked a couple of days later and the heifer was lying on the ground and didn’t want to get up. He coaxed her up but she could hardly walk. Time for a trip to the vet. The vet treated her with a different antibiotic. Two days passed and the heifer’s mobility wasn’t improving. The options were limited: amputate the toe and hope the infection didn’t spread to the other toe, or just put her down. Selling her as a hamburger cow wasn’t an option because of a withholding requirement by law for antibiotic treatment. Amputation, of course, would cost money. However, the potential loss from putting down a cow carrying a calf was greater. So Bill played the odds and opted for amputation.
 
The surgery went well and after a day of observation at the vet clinic, the heifer was released to be brought home. Bill put her in the corral and fed her grain and hay, and filled a small stock tank with water. We were scheduled to leave on a 10-day vacation to Colorado the next day. We already had a house-sitter hired who could do chores; the vet agreed to make a couple of barn-calls to change the dressing while we were gone. So we headed to Colorado.
 
While on vacation, Bill called home a few times and everything was going fine.
 
We returned home on a Friday. On Saturday, Bill attended a volleyball officials’ clinic, a requirement to officiate scholastic volleyball. I was home doing the post-vacation umpteen loads of laundry. On one trip from the clothesline to the house, I detoured by the corral to check on the heifer. She had a mucusy, bloody-looking substance hanging from her rear end. Oh no! She was having, or maybe losing, her calf. Then I looked at the ground in front of her. Correction: she’d had her calf and it was alive. What I saw being expelled was the afterbirth. She wasn’t due to calve until around Labor Day so the calf was over two weeks premature. And it was tiny, less than half the size of a normal newborn calf.
 
Bill pulled into the driveway a couple of hours later, and I ran out to tell him about our preemie. He was flabbergasted and rushed out to the corral. He had never seen such a small calf alive. He lifted it to its feet and guided it over to Mama so it could eat. The poor thing was so small it couldn’t reach the faucets. Bill mixed up a bag of colostrum substitute and the calf took part of it. Late in the evening, he was able to get the rest of it into the calf and also fed him an electrolyte mixture. He estimated the little bull weighed about 35 pounds. A normal newborn calf weighed between 65 and 80 pounds. Even carried to full term, this calf would likely have been below average birth weight because the heifer’s partial lameness prevented her from grazing to sustain both her and the unborn calf, and the added stress of the toe amputation.
 
Bill fed milk replacer to the calf for the next couple of days. Then, on the evening of the third day, he headed out to the corral with the bottle of milk replacer and found the calf reaching up as far as it could, standing almost on the tippy toes of his hooves, with the end of a teat in his mouth, sucking away. Another hallelujah moment on the Hilbert farm!
 
The calf wasn’t yet strong enough to get all its nourishment from Mama, so Bill continued supplementing with milk replacer for a few days. Mama regained her strength and her hoof healed, enabling her to limp along on a hind leg with only one toe. Appropriately, Bill named her One-Toe and he named the calf Itty Bitty.
 
Several years later, we still have One-Toe. She still limps but can get where she wants or needs to go, and she raises great calves!
 
This pic taken in the fall of 2014 shows the right rear “one-toe” hoof. The calf is Two-Toes, the first heifer we kept from One-Toe.

​If you’ve read any of my blog posts about our cattle herd, you’ve no doubt picked up on the feeling that what we really have is about 150 pets. We even name some of them! This cattle operation isn’t just a money-making project. Believe me, there are easier, less stressful, and more lucrative ways to make money. It’s a calling.
 
Bill was born and raised on a family farm passed down through the generations. Farming was long hours, hard work and very little money. His family had the necessities but not much more. That’s why he extended his education beyond high school and earned both bachelors and masters degrees in entomology.
 
But farming was in Bill’s blood. It was a calling he couldn’t ignore. As soon as he could afford to buy a house and a few acres, he bought a half dozen yearling steers. The cattle operation evolved from there.
 
We care about our 150 bovine pets. We try to provide the best quality grass, hay and grain possible. Bill attends meetings and seminars and researches for information about every aspect of running a cattle operation to not only be profitable, but also to provide the best care possible for our animals. We check the herd frequently to be sure they are all in good health and that calves are gaining weight appropriately. We take preventative measures to ward off diseases. In case of a health issue, Bill diagnoses and treats the problem, frequently consulting a veterinarian. Yes, we use antibiotics, but only if necessary and sparingly to bring the animal back to health. We hate to see one of our pets suffer.
 
In previous posts, I’ve told stories of what I consider to be legends of our farm. These gals were long-time members of our herd and produced great calves, some of which we’ve kept as replacement heifers. Each had engaging personalities and were tame enough to eat range cubes out of our hands. Yes, we treated them like pets. But, the reality of a cattle operation is still based on profit and loss. To achieve the former and avoid the latter, cows must produce calves. So, in the past year, I’ve bid tearful good-byes to legends Hereford, Sweat Pea and Proud Mary. Their stories were told in “Romper Room Calves – Part 3: Frosty, Hereford and Heartbreak” posted March 30 2016, and “Calving Wrap-Up” posted December 13, 2016.
 
Another herd legend, One-Toe, could be on the short-list headed for the sale barn sometime this year. She joined our herd in 2006 as a replacement heifer, one of a group Bill bought from another cattleman. Her name came about as a result of a serious case of foot rot that resulted in an urgent treatment procedure to save her life and that of her unborn calf. I told her story in my book.