The conversation between Bill and Miracle, one of our “Romper Room” bottle calves from last fall, could have gone something like this:
 
Bill: Miracle, I need a favor.
Miracle: What’s that? Munch, munch (Miracle is grazing. Eating is serious business for her.)
Bill: We have a little week-old orphan heifer, #25. Her mama died, kind of like yours did last year.
Miracle: What do you want me to do? I certainly can’t feed her. Munch, munch
Bill: We’re taking care of that by bottle-feeding her milk replacer, just like we did you.
Miracle: I remember that was good stuff! Munch, munch
Bill: She’s shut up in the barn by herself, and she’s scared and lonely without her mama and her friends.
Miracle: I’ve heard her crying. Wondered what was up. Munch, munch
Bill: I just need you to stay in the corral pen with her so she has company and a warm body to snuggle up with. You wouldn’t be her substitute mama, more like a companion. It’s just for a few days, then I’ll turn you both out into the pasture with the first-calf heifers. Look, I’ll even sweeten the deal and give you grain when I feed the heifer.
Miracle: Grain, you say? I’m in! I do remember what it was like to be an orphan—lonely and afraid. Olpe and Frosty were really nice to me. I’ll bunk with her and be her companion. Munch, munch

​Yes, we have a bottle calf. Cow #25 unexpectedly succumbed to anaplasmosis a few days after her calf was born.
 
Anaplasmosis 101 – An infectious disease in cattle that causes destruction of red blood cells. It’s caused by a parasite, Anaplasma marginale, and can be transmitted from infected animals to healthy animals by insects and ticks. The disease destroys red blood cells, causing anemia, loss of appetite, decrease of milk production in lactating cows and, eventually, death.
 
Treatment with antibiotics can be effective in the early stages but, unfortunately, Cow #25 didn’t exhibit symptoms until the disease was too far advanced. Bill tried to administer antibiotics, but it was too late.
 
This Cow #25 was the daughter of a previous Cow #25, featured in my book in a chapter titled, “Marginally Unfit Mothers,” and sub-chapter “From Search-and-Rescue Mission to Near-Death Experience.” The original matriarch joined our herd as a first-calf heifer with her unborn calf. An adventure unfolded when I found the newborn calf in the timber, apparently abandoned because I didn’t see the mother. Bill was gone, of course, officiating at a high school football game that evening, and I was faced with having to stay with the calf to protect it from predators until he arrived home. The adventure continued the next day, nearly ending in a catastrophe when a squeeze chute malfunctioned and liberated a rampaging Cow #25 intent on doing me great bodily harm.

Yes, we still have Miracle, our miracle calf. Her story was part of my “Romper Room Calves” series posted earlier this year in March, http://www.fromhighheelstogumboots.com/gumboot-tracks-blog/archives/03-2016.
 
Miracle’s mom, Cow #54 a/k/a “Wheezy”, was seriously ill and we doubted she would even have a calf. But she surprised us! However, her major health issues, which were later attributed to bovine leukosis, prevented her from being a proper mother. She had very little milk and would abandon her calf. As a result, the calf turned up missing on two occasions for a total of eight days, surviving predators, dehydration, starvation and a major infestation of screwworms! Appropriately, Bill named her Miracle.
 
After the second disappearance, we took her to the barn to join two other bottle calves, Olpe and Frosty. The screwworm damage was extensive and took most of the winter to heal. As a result of the cow’s illness and  her rough start to life, Miracle’s growth was stunted. She is only about a third of the size of the other yearling calves we just sold. We didn’t sell her because she wouldn’t bring any money at the sale barn. Yearling calves are usually bought by feedlot owners and become feeder calves. With her diminutive size, nobody would want her. Maybe that’s why grazing is such serious business for her: she realizes her growth is stunted and eats to catch up!
 
But she’s a feisty and resilient little soul and very adaptable! If she gets crowded out at the feed bunk or water tank? No problem, she just circles until she finds a small opening to wiggle through.
 
We put the other heifers in one of the rented pastures during the summer, but pastured the steers at home. Bill wanted to keep Miracle close since she’s had some minor health issues—abscesses, some of which go away, but others have to be lanced then treated to prevent infection—so he put her in with the steers. Her “Romper Room” buddy, Olpe, and another steer she knew, Levi, were in that group so she hung with them. After the steers were sold, Bill put her in the small pasture with the first-calf heifers. She follows the small herd, grazing and mostly minding her own business.
 
Another conversation between Bill and Miracle that could have occurred a couple of days after the first one:
 
Miracle: Farmer Bill, could I have a word with you please? Munch, munch
Bill: Sure, Miracle, what is it?
Miracle: This companion gig is OK. She’s a cute little thing and giving back what other calves once gave me makes me feel valued; gives me a purpose in life since I’ll never be a full-fledged cow. And I appreciate the grain ration. But could you please explain the difference between a companion and a mama to her? As soon as she polishes off the bottle of milk replacer and you leave, she trots over and tries to suck my teats! Munch, munch
Bill: Sorry, Miracle. Just give her a little nudge. She’ll soon figure it out.

​If new twins Heckle and Jeckle could talk that’s what they’d say about their mama, Chubby. In fact, nine years ago she joined our herd as a jailbait first-calf heifer!  
 
The second part of the story about our history-making banner day on September 8th was that Chubby birthed twins. Not the usual heifer and bull as we’ve had in the past, but two bulls. As I stated in my last post, bull or steer calves bring more money than heifers at the sale barn. You can just imagine how deliriously happy Bill was when he tagged the calves, checked their plumbing and discovered they were both bulls!
 
As with any birth of twins in our operation, there was an adventure. But first, the story of the 

In 2007, Bill increased his herd with the purchase of six first-calf heifers with month-old calves on them. He didn’t want to spend much money and found a young cattleman looking to cull these pairs and willing to negotiate on price. The heifers had all been mistakenly bred very young—think “jailbait”—by a philandering, fence-jumping bull. Bill selected five pair that would blend well with his herd. He rejected the sixth pair because he didn’t like the build of either the first-calf heifer or her bull calf, which he referred to it as a “knothead.” Plus, the heifer had horns; he didn’t want a horned cow in his herd.
 
The cattleman was anxious to get rid of the pair so discounted the price. Bill reluctantly agreed to take them. Since then, Bill has referred to these six cows has his “Bargain Basement Cows.”
 
The members of this not-so-elite group were:
 
“Hereford” – One of our favorites due to her gentle disposition. She was a good mom, had plenty of milk and raised great calves. Unfortunately, we had to sell her earlier this year because her milk supply failed.
 
“Prolapse” – Another Hereford and the subject of a chapter by that name in my book. She suffered a uterine prolapse with the birth of her calf the following year. That was our first experience with prolapse. The veterinarian was able to repair the problem and save the cow. But Bill later sold her and the calf.
 
No Name, No Number – Probably the best cow of the bunch but didn’t breed a few years ago and was subsequently sold.
 
#207 and #261 – Not named, but both produce good calves and are still members of our herd.
 
“Chubby” – The almost-rejected cow with the horns and now a sentimental favorite. Since “Knothead,” she’s raised good calves. In the beginning her disposition was flighty, but she’s mellowed with age and even eats range cubes out of our hands! 

Continuing from my last post, “Good Golly, Miss Molly!” as I returned to the kitchen multi-tasking projects, another history-making event was unfolding. One of the cows in our farthest east pasture had separated from the rest of the herd and sequestered herself in the southeast corner in a low area where erosion wash-out had formed a few shallow ditches. Through binoculars, I could barely see the top of her back when she was standing and nothing when she lay down.
 
During a break in the culinary action, I changed back into my still-damp-from-sweat farm clothes, grabbed the binoculars and my cell phone, stepped into my trusty gumboots and clomped out in the heat and humidity on the half-mile walk to find the cow. The trek was mostly uphill through tall native grass. If she was lying in the low area, I’d probably almost be on top of her when I found her. And that’s what happened.
 
The cow was Chubby. I’d startled her and she struggled to her feet. There was no calf but I could see mucus streaming from her back end. I turned and retreated as quickly and quietly as possible while trying not to fall into one of the ditches, and hoped she wouldn’t be agitated and leave this area.
 
Bill was fishing at Lake Perry. I pulled out my cellphone and called him from the pasture with the news. From my description, he surmised Chubby was just starting labor and there was no reason to rush home yet.
 
He arrived home a couple of hours later, picked me up and we drove out to the area where I’d seen Chubby. She was still there and cleaning off a newly-born calf. Bill parked a short distance away, grabbed a bucket of grain and his ear-tagger and slowly walked toward her. He poured the grain on the ground and walked around her to tag the calf, where he found another calf! Omigosh, twins!
 
Bill quietly walked back to the truck and reloaded the tagger. After he tagged the second calf, he checked the plumbing and determined they were both bulls—another historical event in our calving operation. Previously, our sets of twins all consisted of a bull and heifer. And to top it off, Chubby appeared to claim both calves: She had cleaned them off and was letting both nurse. Hot dang and hallelujah! This called for a Margarita before we ate lunch!
 
Early that evening we drove back out to the pasture to check on the new family. Chubby had relocated about 150 yards from her labor and delivery location…and we saw only one calf. Bill circled around the new area, driving slowly so he didn't accidentally run over the missing calf before we saw it. But we didn’t see the other twin. Unfortunately, even if a cow cleans both twins and lets them suck, she may not always round up both of them when she goes on the move. If one calf is napping and doesn’t get up, it gets left behind.
 
We knew if we didn’t find that missing twin before nightfall it would be coyote bait, as Bill calls it. He slowly and carefully drove back to the birth area, both of us intently looking out our respective windows in case the calf had started out with the rest of the family but became weak and laid down. We arrived at the birth area and found him curled up asleep. Bill parked the pickup several yards away, as close as he could get because of the ditches, and opened up the back. He picked up the calf, carried him to the truck, loaded him, shut the tailgate and topper door, and heaved a huge sigh of relief. We’d found the calf and he was alive!
 
But the little bull was weak and may or may not have gotten much colostrum from Chubby. We considered taking him to the barn for the night and giving him a bottle of a just-add-water substitute, then trying to reunite him with Chubby the next morning. She and the other calf were about a quarter mile from the gate then, but they could be anywhere in the pasture by tomorrow.
 
Bill stopped the truck, grabbed his herding sticks and walked toward the pair. Chubby wasn’t pleased to be poked at with a stick and even less so when Bill prodded her calf. She shook her head and expressed her displeasure at being bothered in terse cow-speak. Further urging from Bill got her and the calf headed in the general direction of the gate into the small corral pasture. He motioned for me to follow in the truck at a distance.
 
Chubby veered off a couple of times but Bill redirected her back on course. The calf followed along. About 100 yards from the gate, Bill motioned and yelled for me to circle wide, drive through the gate and stop a short distance beyond. I got out of the truck and watched as Bill herded the pair to the gate, marveling that this adventure was about to have a happy ending.
 
Then Chubby bolted. She loped away from the gate and along the fence. The calf tried to follow, but Bill grabbed its hind leg and dragged it back toward the gate while it squalled in protest. Hearing the distress cry, Chubby slammed on her bovine brakes, reversed direction and lumbered to the rescue right through the gate!
 
I was so relieved and happy I teared up.  
 
Bill opened the back of truck, lifted out the abandoned twin and set him down near Chubby. He gave him a little shove toward the teats and the hungry little bull latched on. When Bill checked on them later, he saw the calf eating again and heard loud slurping noises. He kept them in the corral pasture for a few days to reinforce the familial bond then opened the gate so they could join the first-calf heifers in the small pasture we can monitor from the house.
 
Historical events and hallelujah moments in the Hilbert herd! 

Remember in my last post when I said the current calf count was 11 but could change any minute? I…HAD…NO…IDEA…that September 8th would be a banner day in Hilbert calving history: Our girls birthed seven calves, including a set of twins! Previous record daily total was five during the 2014 season. We already had a four-calf day this year on September 4th.
 
As usual, Bill got up early and made the rounds of our two pastures and three we rent in the neighborhood. Another of the first-calf heifers had calved, cleaned it off and the little bull was having breakfast. In one of the rented pastures, Bill found an extremely proud mama and her new heifer. A tagging adventure ensued. Seems the little girl didn’t like having her ear pierced with a tag and squalled about it, bringing Mama’s wrath down on Bill. He escaped without injury.
 
For this year’s calving season, 18 of our older cows remained at the ranch where our cow/calf pairs spend the winter. The rancher keeps tabs on them and checks in with new birth details. He reported one new calf that morning, a bull. He would report in again later that evening with news of a new heifer.
 
Bill completed his morning rounds. We had three new calves bringing this year’s total to seventeen, twelve of which were bulls, making Bill extremely happy because bulls bring higher prices than heifers at the sale barn. Bill hooked up his boat and headed to Lake Perry on a catfishing excursion. But before he left, he gave me instructions to check on First-Calf Heifer #370, aka Miss Molly, one of Proud Mary’s daughters. She was alone in an area of the pasture away from the rest of the new and prospective-new mamas; an indication she was thinking about having her calf, but not yet showing signs of labor.
 
My morning was an exercise in kitchen multi-tasking: make granola and frozen yogurt bars, and hard-cook some eggs. Before I got in too deep, I grabbed the binoculars and went outdoors to check on Miss Molly. She was standing at the north end of the first-calf heifer pasture, alone but not far from the rest of the gals. Less than a couple of hours had passed since Bill left so I decided I’d better go see if anything was happening yet.
 
We’d had a half-inch of rain overnight so the grass was wet—definitely a gumboots trip! The temperature was climbing as was the humidity. This would not be a pleasant quarter-mile walk.
 
As I approached Miss Molly, I saw a reddish mucus discharge streaming from her rear end. Then I saw the little black bundle of joy wobbling toward its first meal. Good Golly, Miss Molly! Another uneventful first-calf heifer birth—just the way we like ‘em!
 
I headed back to the house, peeled out of the sweaty farm clothes and called Bill with the good news. Later when he returned home, with some nice catfish, he tagged the calf and determined it was another bull.

After checking my blog archives and picture files from our 2014 calving, I found this photo from my post of September 21st, “Calving Update,” http://www.fromhighheelstogumboots.com/gumboot-tracks-blog/archives/09-2014, with the caption, “Miss Molly and Sox…the future of the Hilbert Herd?” 

​That prediction is proving to be correct. Sox, then Calf #202 whose mother was Hereford, Cow #202, was renumbered to #206 when Bill decided to keep her as a replacement heifer. She and her first calf, Petey, were featured in last week’s post. 

​Our banner calving day continues. While Miss Molly was having her calf and I was multi-tasking in the kitchen, another Hilbert history-making event was unfolding in our east pasture with Chubby, one of Bill’s bargain basement buys from several years ago.

First-Calf Heifer #206 started off our 2016 fall calving season by presenting us with a fine bull on August 28th.

Bill named the calf Petey, after the dog in the Little Rascals/Our Gang television series of the 1950’s; although our Petey only has the black spot on one eye, not the black circle around the other eye.
 
FCH #206 is the daughter of our only Hereford cow that, unfortunately, is no longer with us because she didn’t have enough milk to sustain her heifer last year. Bill has saved several of her daughters as replacement heifers because she previously had the milk flow to raise good calves and she had a gentle disposition. Even if we no longer have Hereford, we have the bloodline.
 
Here’s are a couple of pics from 2014 of Hereford and FCH #206 as a calf only a few days old. 

And here’s the new mama, nuzzling and giving Petey his post-supper bath. Hereford would be so proud!

​The new calf count is at 11, but that could change any minute!