Fifteen days into our 2017 fall calving season, we had:

• 37 calves;
• Two stillbirths replaced by two successful adoptions—one rife with drama worthy of an RFD Channel production; the other fairly routine, if a little gross, that involved fashioning an Angus/Simmental disguise for the predominantly white Holstein bull calf using the dead calf’s black pelt and smearing it with the cow’s  afterbirth; and the latest adventure… 
• Twins!

 
Two days after the second adoption, as Bill was making his morning rounds beginning with our home pastures, he found Cow #307 and a new calf near the west fence of our east pasture, not far from our house. As he was writing the cow’s number on an ear tag for the calf, he saw another set of small hooves on the opposite side of the cow. Twins! He ear tagged both calves and determined one was a bull, the other a heifer.
 
The concern with twins is the mother may reject one calf and not let it nurse; or when she moves around the pasture to graze, she may not be diligent in taking both with her. Fortunately, Cow #307’s choice of delivery room was close, about sixty yards, to the gate into the smaller corral pasture. This pasture, about an acre in size, provides a confined space to encourage family bonding.
 
When Bill herded the new family toward the gate into the corral pasture, the heifer lagged behind. No problem, he would go back and get her. But when he returned to where he left her, she was gone. Oh-oh! She couldn’t have wandered far but trying to find her in the tall grass could become an intensive search-and-find mission. He stood in place and looked around the area for a couple of minutes, finally spotting her on top of a terrace. He loaded her into the back of his pickup and hauled her to the corral to rejoin the family.
 
After several days of quality time together, Bill was confident Cow #307 would be a good mama to both calves. He released the new family into the small pasture with the first-calf heifers, which is close to the house so we can watch to be sure the bond continues.
 
Did we name the twins? Of course we did: Bonnie and Clyde.

Yes, ten days later Bill found another stillborn calf. But this mama, #608, had previously birthed several calves. We assumed this labor and delivery was long and stressful.
 
Luckily, as with the first adoption, Bill found #608 and her dead calf in one of our own pastures when he was making early morning rounds. Loading and hauling in a stock trailer would not be necessary. He loaded the calf onto the tailgate of his pickup where mama could see and smell it. Then he gathered up the afterbirth in a bucket and headed for the barn. #608 didn’t just follow the truck, she raced it to the barn, even clipping the driver’s side mirror! At the barn, he herded the cow into a pen, unloaded the dead calf and afterbirth, called the dairyman to check availability for another Holstein adoptee and left to pick one up.
 
When Bill returned with the Holstein, we went to work. Fortunately, for this adoption—the cattleman term for the procedure is “grafting” but I like to humanize these processes—we had two helpful aids missing from the first one: the pelt from the dead calf and the afterbirth. These items could be critical because this Holstein bull was mostly white, whereas the first one was mostly black.
 
Using his deer skinning knife, Bill skinned the pelt from the dead calf and poked holes in each of the four corners. He threaded nylon baling twine through the holes. I held the calf in a hug around his neck while Bill, straddling his back, draped the pelt over him and tied it off underneath his belly. The calf was quiet and didn’t struggle much, but he was hungry and started searching me for a meal, sucking on my t-shirt. I told him, “Hey, buddy, if you stand still and wait patiently, we’ll get you some milk from tits that are equipped to provide it.”
 
Bill grabbed the afterbirth from the bucket and smeared it on the pelt, the calf’s head and legs, as well as one of my bare arms! While all this was happening, the cow nervously paced back and forth at the pen gate, softly fussing. Her behavior was relatively calm compared to a couple of past adoptions when the mamas angrily trotted around the pen, loudly cow-cussing us for how we were treating their dead babies!
 
When we finished dressing the Holstein in his Angus/Simmental disguise, I opened the gate and Bill pushed him into the pen. Cow #608 sniffed the calf and gave it a test lick. She followed him as he walked around the pen, surveying his new temporary digs. We left the barn to allow the new family to bond.
 
Bill checked on the bonding progress a couple of times. The first time the calf was lying down, probably tuckered out from the trip and costuming ordeal. The second time the calf was up nursing and wagging its tail, a good sign he was getting a meal. Bill was ecstatic when he returned to the house, and cracked open a beer—another successful adoption!
 
Bill removed the pelt that evening, then turned the new family out to pasture the next morning. Mama and calf are inseparable!

Our 2017 calving season started with drama: Birth mom loses her own baby and tries to claim someone else’s. Sounds like the plot of a made-for-TV movie on the Lifetime channel, doesn’t it? We experienced an RFD channel version with our first birth this year.
 
The last weekend of August, Bill brought the soon-to-be first-calf heifers home from a rented pasture a half mile away to a small pasture near the house so we can supervise them during labor, delivery and new motherhood. Usually the process goes as nature intended; but occasionally Bill has to step in to help deliver a calf or encourage bonding between the new mother and her calf.
 
Unfortunately, one of the first-calf heifers, #258, had already birthed a stillborn calf a day or two earlier, almost three weeks premature. The “baby bump” in her midsection was gone, she was still trailing a little afterbirth and her udder was swelling with milk—“making a bag” in Farmerese.
 
The potential new moms settled into the “labor and delivery” pasture, and a few days later another heifer, #141, birthed her calf. As soon as #258 saw the new baby, she charged up to it and started sniffing and licking it, claiming it as her own. An older cow wouldn’t have tolerated this intrusion, but #141 didn’t know what she should do. As #258 continued to claim possession of the calf and shove #141 away, Bill decided if #258 wanted to be a mother that badly, he would get a baby for her to adopt. He called a dairy about a half-hour away and the dairyman agreed to sell him a two-day old Holstein bull calf. Dairies don’t keep bull calves; someone buys and bucket-feeds, then sells them.
 
Usually, we wouldn’t attempt an adoption with a first-calf heifer because sometimes they require help developing their motherly instincts toward their own calves, let alone an adoptee. Not a problem with #258!
 
To facilitate past adoptions where the calf was dead on arrival or died shortly thereafter, Bill skinned the pelt off and tied it on the adoptee. Then he rubbed the mom’s afterbirth on it to trick her into believing this was her natural calf. In the current situation, neither was available. But prior to herding #258 to the barn to wait for the adoptee, she had peed. Bill grabbed his handkerchief out of his back pocket and tossed it onto the wet spot in the grass, similar to the way he tossed the yellow penalty flag in his football officiating days. Now he had an identifying smell from the prospective mom. I know. It’s gross, but you do what you have to do!
 
Bill arrived home and unloaded the Holstein calf. At least this calf was more black than white, unlike a couple previous adoptees that were the opposite, although it didn’t seem to matter. He rubbed it with the peed-on hanky and applied “Orphan No More” calf claim powder, a product that is sprinkled onto the calf’s dampened back and is flavored to encourage the cow to lick the adoptee until she claims it as her own.
 
He pushed the calf into the pen with #258. She perked up her ears, rushed to her new baby and began sniffing and licking it. This could be one of the fastest adoptions we’d ever attempted.
 
However, that night #258 bawled almost all night. Bill assumed she was calling for #141’s calf which she still thought was her baby. The next morning, I heard bawling and went out to find #141 standing near the barn. She may have forgotten where she left her calf and thought it was in the barn with #258. I walked the length of the pasture along the fence line, then returned along the opposite side searching for the calf. I was nearly back to the starting point when I found #141 with her calf. She’d evidently found it while I was walking the opposite direction.
 
Bill had already decided not to put #258 and her adoptee back into the same pasture with #141; but apparently more distance than adjacent pastures would be necessary. He loaded up Pair #141and took them to a rented pasture. Pair #258 is at home in one of our own pastures with older cows that won’t tolerate her attempting to claim their calves.