…and not just in the obvious ways: getting kicked, stepped on, head-butted, charged or knocked on one’s kiester. Restraining cows in a squeeze chute during the working procedure prevents most of these mishaps. However, banding testicles of bull calves to castrate them leaves Bill exposed to the first two hazards because he is inside the chute with the calf.
 
Beyond these obvious hazards are two we’ve experienced in the past: Bill was accidentally vaccinated for blackleg and I was “poured on.”
 
The blackleg incident occurred a couple of years ago during a clumsy hand-off of the hypodermic syringe filled with vaccine.
 
Blackleg 101 – Known as a clostridial disease, i.e., caused by anaerobic spores that allow bacteria to live in soil for long periods. Once spores are ingested by a cow or calf the disease hits hard and fast, and can be fatal in as little as 48 hours. Symptoms are lameness, depression, loss of appetite and hot painful swelling of a leg. The best prevention is to vaccinate both cows and calves.
 
When we’re working cattle, one of my jobs is to hand syringes to Bill and grab the ones he hands back to me. He uses multi-dose stainless steel and glass syringes and at least three are required per cow, sometimes four depending on the season. This was a chilly, blustery day and I was wearing light-weight cotton gloves. I handed a syringe to Bill at the same time he handed the one containing blackleg vaccine back to me. The syringe slipped through my grip-less glove and I watched in horror as it plummeted to the ground, expecting the glass barrel to shatter, spilling the vaccine. Luckily, the (expensive!) syringe survived the fall intact. Unluckily, Bill’s leg broke its fall as the needle plunged through his jeans into his calf muscle. Ouch! The pain lasted for several days. This is one of many reasons farm people should keep their tetanus shots current!
 
I was subsequently demoted from Vet Assistant II to I.
 
The Pour-On incident happened last year. Pour-On is a de-worming and de-licing solution poured or sprayed on the animal. The solution comes in a gallon plastic jug. The original cap is removed and a lid with a hose and pistol-grip nozzle is screwed on. My job is to hold the jug upside down and hand the nozzle to Bill. To insure a steady stream, I have to hold the jug high at arm’s length. On this occasion, the screw lid had worked loose so that when Bill “poured” the cow, I also got poured!
 
No demotion occurred this time. Plus, Bill hasn’t developed blackleg and I haven’t suffered an infestation of lice or worms!
 
I’m happy to report we worked this year’s cows and calves without Bill being vaccinated or me getting “poured on.”
 
Due to the increased numbers of cows and calves to be worked plus the fact that the cattleman and his highly efficient assistant (except for the dropped syringe incident!) aren’t getting any younger, Bill changed the working schedule this year. In past years, we worked the pairs to be wintered at the ranch during one very intense week in early November, two trailer-loads (7 pairs/load) each day. Bill didn’t return from the second trip until nearly dark or later and still had to hose out the trailer so it was ready to go the next day.
 
This year, we started the process in October with the cows that calved earliest. We worked one load per day, one or two days each week. A much more relaxed and aging cattleman and assistant-friendly schedule! We also benefited by being able to select our working days according to the weather; no more cold, blustery conditions.
 
In addition to the usual steps in the working process—trimming long tail hair on cows, replacing lost ear tags, vaccinating, spraying with Pour-On and castrating bull calves by banding their testicles—a new step was added this year: changing the needles on the syringes between cows. This new step was the result of losing a few cows to anaplasmosis the last two years. Anaplasmosis is an infectious blood disease caused by a parasite. It affects the red blood cells and causes severe anemia. If not caught early, it’s usually fatal. Older cows are particularly susceptible. Reusing needles runs the risk of spreading the disease in a herd.
 
Bill decided the best method for the needle change-out was to do it after he injected the cow and handed the syringe back to me. We used three multi-dose syringes containing three different vaccines, so each cow received three injections. Here’s our vaccination workflow:

1. I hand Bill the first syringe, he injects the cow and passes it back to me;
2. I take the first syringe from him and hand him the second one;
3. While he injects, I twist off the old needle from the first syringe, twist on a new one and return the syringe to its assigned hole in the caddy;
4. I pull the third syringe out of the caddy, hand it to Bill and take the second one back;
5. Twist off old needle, twist on new one and return syringe to caddy.
6. Bill hands me third syringe and I replace needle.
7. Repeat steps 1 through 6 with the next cow and the next and the next, etc.

 
Except it didn’t really work that way and certainly not that smoothly.
 
To give you a visual, I’ve included pictures of a stainless steel and glass syringe, and our homemade syringe caddy. The first pic of the caddy shows the syringes in their assigned holes. The difference this year is that all our syringes are the stainless steel and glass type, like the first one. Also in this pic you can see part of the jug of Pour-On, on the left, and the trigger sprayer. The third pic shows the interior of the caddy. 

​This new step wasn’t complicated, just labor-intensive, required extreme focus and forced us to change our previously established workflow rhythm. Plus, the used needles don’t twist off easily once they’ve been jammed into a cow, and may require the aid of a pair of pliers. Remember the mishandled syringe incident earlier? Replacing needles three times per cow exponentially increases the risk of dropping these high-dollar syringes, not to mention losing track of whether or not a needle was replaced or putting a syringe back into the wrong hole in the caddy. And some of the cows aren’t very patient or tolerant in the squeeze chute. Neither are those waiting in line behind it. But the process actually went pretty well this year and we can work on smoothing it out and establishing a new rhythm next year.
 
I’m happy to report that as a result of the added responsibility of the needle exchange procedure, I’ve been promoted to Vet Assistant III. The bad news is there was no pay increase!

​My fall calving wrap-up blog post is a little late this year. OK, it’s more than a little late. I’m hoping to complete it by the first day of spring! Why bother? I already had notes compiled, pictures taken and hated to waste all that effort!
 
We calved out 70 cows, including ten first-calf heifers, this past fall—the most since we started the cow/calf operation. Here are a few of the highlights.

The calving season started with an adventure: First-Calf Heifer #258 lost her calf and tried to adopt another heifer’s calf to fulfill her purpose in life. Usually, Bill wouldn’t attempt an adoption with a first-calf heifer but #258 wanted so badly to be a mother, he decided to chance it with a Holstein bull calf from an area dairy. I posted the full story, “Kickoff of 2017 Calving Season,” on Sept. 10, 2017.
 
A few days later, one of the cows, #608, birthed a stillborn. Bill made another trip to the dairy for an adoptee. That story, “Another Adoption, But Without the Drama,” was posted on Sept. 15th.
 
In October, we added yet another Holstein adoptee when second-calf heifer #362a lost her calf. Our adoptees are usually only a few days old, but this one was born about two weeks earlier. Since he was much bigger than the other two, Bill named him Hoss.

At least one set of twins per calving season is becoming the norm for us and this year was no exception. Our twin story, “Another Calving Adventure…or Two,” was posted on Sept. 17th.

In my fall calving posts, I’ve always included pictures of one of our herd favorites, Hereford, and her calves. Sadly, Hereford’s last calving season with us was in 2015. She didn’t have enough milk for her calf, Frosty, which necessitated supplementation with milk replacer. Their story was posted in “Romper Room Calves – Part 3: Frosty, Hereford and Heartbreak” on March 29, 2016. We kept Frosty as a replacement heifer and she had her first calf this year. We were doubtful whether or not she was bred because she wasn’t showing signs of impending birth. Finally, in early November, her udder began to swell and she calved a nice bull calf a few days later—the last calf of the year.

​Thanks to Frosty and her four half-sisters The Hereford Dynasty lives on, but as black white-face progeny instead of red white-face.

Another one of our herd favorites, One-Toe, presented us with what we initially thought was a nice heifer. We even named her “Four-Toes,” thinking she could be a potential keeper as a replacement heifer. Later, Bill discovered that, oops, “she” was a bull!  

A couple of days later, we discovered One-Toe didn’t have enough milk to sustain her calf, necessitating supplementation with milk replacer. Sadly, another of our herd legends will be taking her last trailer ride after calves are weaned in late spring.
 
But happily, daughters Two-Toes and Three-Toes both calved this year. The Toe Family Legacy lives on!

(Photo quality isn't good but I discovered long ago that most of the time you have to settle for what they give you; and sometimes you get lucky, but not here!)

As usual, after the cows and calves were worked, 60 pairs were hauled to a ranch about a 45-minute trailer ride south of us to spend the winter. We aren’t set up to cater silage or large quantities of hay. The cattle we kept and fed hay and grain at home include:

• Eleven replacement heifers, born fall of 2016, that were bred in December and January so will have their first calves next fall;
• A few cows that birthed late calves—it’s easier to keep them here rather than haul them to the ranch later;
• “The Gimpy 4” – Four older cows with mobility issues that we need to monitor. One-Toe is included in this group, and all have advance reservations for their last trailer ride after their calves are weaned. "Do advance reservations guarantee us window seats?"
• Two bulls to breed the replacement heifers and late-calving cows. The Gimpy 4 may also be bred but won’t be calving, at least not here.

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.

How you would react if your pre-adolescent child disappeared for a while, then returned sporting a ring pierced through its nose?
 
Two of our cows experienced this parentally upsetting moment a few days ago when Bill weaned the last two calves, born in November. Although in our case, the calves’ noses weren’t pierced and the bling was a plastic nose flap. 

A couple of years ago we learned about an alternative weaning method called QuietWean. According to the website, http://quietwean.com/, this is a “two-stage, low-stress weaning method for calves.” In the first stage, the milk is removed using a device that prevents the calf from sucking. The second stage is removal of the mother and parental bond. Proponents claim this process creates less stress on both cows and calves versus the simultaneous removal of both the milk and mother. The calves spend less time bawling, less time walking in search of their mamas and more time grazing. Less agitation also means fewer wrecked fences from the families trying to reunite.
 
The device is a lightweight plastic, noninvasive flap inserted just inside the nose that prevents the calf from pulling a teat into its mouth. Also, the flap has plastic teeth on the outer edge that irritate the cow’s udder—but don’t draw blood— so she will step away from the calf.

The calf can continue to graze, eat grain and drink water but still has mama to support and nurture it through this first stage.

Calf #204 can still receive her nightly lick bath, whether or not she wants it!

Having a foreign object inserted into their noses does require an adjustment period for the calves, usually lasting from a few hours up to a day. Bumping the plastic flap on the ground when they graze, on the side of the feed bunk when they eat grain or on the edge of the water tank when they drink causes some skittishness until they become accustomed to it. Calves may also have snotty noses for a few hours, as Flossie, one of the twins from fall of 2014, displays. Poor thing! She looks embarrassed!

According to the QuietWean directions, the nose flaps are left in place for four to seven days. During this time, the calves learn to go without milk and the physical bond with the cow is gradually reduced. Once the flaps are removed, weaning is completed by relocating the calves away from the cows. At this point, we use fence-line weaning: Cows and calves are separated into adjacent pastures so they can still touch noses through the fence. This serves as a gradual weakening of the familial bond. Although, just like human pre-adolescents, calves have already entered that stage where hanging out with mama is considered “uncool” and they’d rather be with their friends!
 
Two years ago we did a test run with the nose flaps on five calves that spent the winter here. Bill separated the cows and calves, herded the calves one or two at a time into the squeeze chute and inserted the flaps. There is a bit of a learning curve with twisting the flap to get the ends into the nose quickly and comfortably for the calf. Then the calves were released to rejoin their mamas. This was One-Toe’s reaction to Two-Toe’s new look and it was shared by the other cows. “What did you do to my baby?”

​Unfortunately, at the current time we are unable to extend nose flap usage to the 65 calves that are wintered and weaned at the ranch because it would require running them through the chute twice. Prior to weaning, the calves are “worked”: given vaccinations and sprayed with “Pour-On,” a repellent for worms, grubs, mites, lice and flies. Bill likes to give the calves two to three weeks to physically recover from being worked before subjecting them to weaning. The ranch owner recruits neighbors to help work our cattle and most don’t have time to go through the rounding up, corralling and running-through-the-chute process twice. Also, unlike us, the rancher doesn’t have close neighbors that would be disturbed by the high-decibel bawling of the traditional weaning process.
 
According to the website, at one ranch where QuietWean nose-flaps were used, the cattleman claimed calves spent 25% more time eating, 95% less time bawling and paced up to 15 miles less than traditional weaning. This eventually translates into more profit at the time of sale. We don’t that have that kind of quantitative data, but the small pasture close to the house where weaning takes place is noticeably quieter. What fussing occurs comes mostly from the mamas lugging uncomfortably full udders who can’t understand why the calves are ignoring their “come to the table” bawls.
 
This spring, we used nose flaps to wean the eight calves wintered here. Admittedly, we have limited experience with this weaning method. But based on observations, our conclusion is it creates less separation anxiety for both cows and calves; and, even though the calves may look uncomfortable for a few hours, it’s a more humane method than removal of both milk and mother at the same time. 

Miracle is our growth-challenged heifer born in the fall of 2015. I related her miraculous survival story in my three-part “Romper Room Calves” series posted in March, 2016. Briefly, it was a miracle she survived her first couple weeks of life. Abandoned twice for a total of eight days because her mother was coping with serious health issues of her own, she survived dehydration, malnutrition and a vicious infestation of screwworms. After the second abandonment, we took her to the barn and raised her as a bottle/bucket calf. The result of her rough start to life is stunted growth as well as the probability of a stunted payout at the sale barn! So we kept her as a pet and herd mascot.
 
But we discovered last fall that she does have value to our operation beyond dollars and cents. We had a cow that died and left an orphan heifer, Mosey. Bill took Mosey to the barn to raise her as a bottle/bucket calf. To ease her loneliness and mournful bawling for her mother, he put Miracle in with her as a companion. Once Miracle convinced Mosey that she was a companion, not her mother and therefore couldn’t provide milk, they got along great. I told their story in “Mama Miracle,” dated September 23, 2016.
 
Mosey was weaned this spring with the rest of last fall’s heifers, bringing to an end Miracle’s position as companion. She’s been hanging with a few of the cows and a couple of calves, not yet weaned, that we kept here over the winter. But a potential problem developed when Bill brought home his two bulls and put them in the same pasture until their services are once again required. We don’t know whether or not Miracle is physically able to come into heat and be bred. But if so, the outcome could be tragic because of her stunted growth. If she carried to term, she might die during the birth process, as might the calf because it wouldn’t be big enough to survive. Preventative measures called for the relocation of Miracle to another pasture.
 
Once again, Bill found a solution that filled a need and provided a purpose in life for Miracle.
 
Bill: Hi, Miracle! Could we chat for a minute?

Miracle: Sure, Bill! What’s up? Munch, munch (Miracle is grazing. Due to her stunted size, eating has always been serious business for her.)

Bill: We have a problem. We need to get you out of this pasture and away from the bulls before the unthinkable happens. Shaking your undersized bovine booty in front of these guys could have tragic consequences! I didn’t work so hard to save your life after you were born only to lose you now during an ill-fated pregnancy or birth attempt.

Miracle: I have no intention of shaking my booty or anything else in front of those bulls! They’re creepy and leer at me and sometimes even stalk me!

Bill: I’m pasturing the steers here this year and, since being weaned a few weeks ago, they’re still a little skittish and rowdy. They need a calming influence, guidance in learning to come to grain and range cubes, and general supervision. Kind of like the bovine version of a frat house mom. And they are harmless for you.

Miracle: Frat house mom?

Bill: Hey, that label came from June, part of her old city girl thinking.

Miracle: Figures! She does come up with some good ones, although sometimes she’s gets a little cutesy. (Author’s note: Cutesy?!) So, how many of these rambunctious adolescents are we talking?

Bill: There are 36.

Miracle: OK. I was getting bored anyway. It’ll feel good to have a purpose again. But here’s the deal: No toga parties and no food fights or other Animal House-type foolishness!

Bill: Sounds good. I’ll tell June you’ve agreed to ride herd on the Phi Beta Beefa fraternity!

Miracle: Phi Beta Beefa? Seriously? Another cutesy June-ism?

​Bill: 'Fraid so, Miracle!
​
Miracle: Good grief! Munch, munch.
 
Miracle whipped those frat steers into shape quickly. I looked out my kitchen window one day and saw them walking across the pasture, single file, with Miracle in the lead. Most of them are comfortable with us moving among them. None are tame enough to eat range cubes out of our hands yet, but she taught them by example to come when the grain bucket is rattled. This is an important tactic in convincing them to go where you want them, through a gate into an adjacent pasture or into the corral to be worked or loaded out.
 
Below is a picture of Miracle from December of 2015, a sad reminder of the horrible aftermath of her abandonment. ​

​Here she is today. Even though she was born in fall of 2015, she is closer in size to the heifers of fall, 2016. That notch in her right ear was where her ear tag was inserted. The insertion leaves a little raw skin that the mother usually tends to. But in Miracle's case, her mom was sick and didn't keep the wound clean so it attracted screwworms from the raging infestation elsewhere on her body.

The two pics below show  Miracle with the Phi Beta Beefa steers. In the first one, she is on the right end in the foreground. Compare her size to the steers. In the second one, she is in front of the frat pack, seriously intent on grazing.

​
​Miracle did such a great job with the steers that Bill’s decided to transfer her to the rented pasture where the heifers are spending the summer. Two of those girls, Mosey and Four Toes, are already teaching the others to respond to the grain bucket and range cubes. Miracle’s mature presence will provide further guidance and leadership to the girls of the Chi Omega Moo sorority!

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.