​Early in our cow/calf operation, I learned to show a healthy respect for our cows’ protective instincts toward their newborn calves. The tamest cow on the place can morph into a raging beast if she perceives a threat to her pride and joy. On this occasion, I let my concern for the welfare of a weakened newborn calf override my better judgement. Big. Mistake!

In my last post, one of our usual calving occurrences was missing from the drama and adventure: twins! That event happened two days later.
 
Early the evening of September 30th, Bill was making the second of his two-a-day calf-check rounds. Cricket and I headed out on our walk and met him at the gate to one of the pastures. He’d already ear-tagged one new calf, then found Cow #59 with twins! He’d run out of tags and was returning to the barn to replenish the post-natal supply bucket he keeps in his pickup. We waited at the gate until he returned then went with him to the delivery location. The cow apparently recognized and accepted both calves, heifers, so life was good! Sometimes they don’t accept one twin and will abandon it. Later, almost dark, Bill found another newborn in an adjoining pasture. So he tagged four calves in about an hour and a half. Did these three cows synchronize their deliveries?
 
The next morning, as Bill made his morning rounds, he checked on the twins. He found Cow #59 and one twin about a hundred yards from the delivery site. The other twin was only about twenty-five yards from it. Mama decided to move and the second twin hadn’t received enough nourishment to make the trip so was abandoned along the way. Bill tried to get her up and walk her over to Mama but she was so weak it was like handling a limp dishrag. Time for an intervention: the calf needed nourishment fast. He would have to load it into the back of the truck and take it to the barn. By that time, Mama arrived on the scene and fussed at him for messing with her calf. She started to lick her as if to say “This is my baby and I love her. Scram!” Bill herded the other twin over to distract her long enough to load the weak one.
 
Once Bill got back to the barn, he put the calf in a small pen and tried to tube-feed it with just-add-water colostrum substitute. Even in her weakened condition, she wanted no part of the tube so he used a bottle with a nipple. She latched on and swallowed about two-thirds of it. He gave her the rest later.
 
Meanwhile, Bill went back and herded Mama and the other twin to the small pasture near the barn. She didn’t care for being relocated against her will. He got them through the gate and left them to rest. Later that afternoon, he went back to start the trip to the barn to reunite the family. By that time, Mama was clinging to her last nerve: Bill had kidnapped one-half of her pride-and-joy duo; then forcibly moved her and the remaining half from their “home” pasture; and now he thinks he’s going to move them again? Of course, there’s no way of knowing, but she may have thought her missing calf was still in the “home” pasture.
 
That did it! Mama lowered her head and charged Bill. He rapped her on the nose with his herding stick, not hard but just enough to make her think twice about annihilating him! They started on the quarter-mile-plus journey. Mama charged him twice more and received the deterring rap each time. They finally reached the corral and he put them in the pen. She recognized her missing calf and started licking her. Then, much to Bill’s surprise, the calf got to its feet and started to nurse! Pleased with the reunion result, he left them together for the night.

​The next morning, Bill turned the family out into the small corral pasture to continue bonding. Mama immediately headed for a far corner of the pasture and the twins scampered after her. Then he left for appointments in town.
 
I looked out my kitchen window several times during the morning to check on the family. Both calves were lying down in the corner of the pasture and Mama was standing diagonally across the corner to provide shade and protection. I saw one calf nurse a couple of times, but never saw both calves at once. The day was unseasonably warm and I grew concerned about whether or not the weak calf was nursing to get not only nourishment but fluids so it wouldn’t dehydrate.
 
This is the point at which my concern for the welfare of the calf overrode my better judgement. I knew Mama’s mood probably hadn’t improved, considering what she’d been through the past twenty-four hours. Most likely, her mood had plummeted further as she was standing in the hot sun with no intention of leaving her beloved twins. But, I didn’t want a calf to dehydrate and die on my watch so I ventured out to check on them. I detoured through the barn and grabbed a few range cubes (cow treats) to bribe my way into her good graces so I could get close enough to assess the calves’ conditions. Approaching slowly, I held out the range cube to her at a considerably stretched arm’s length, glancing down at the twins. Mama took the treat from my hand, lowered her head and put me on the ground!
 
Momentarily stunned, that instinct I’m supposed to possess that tells me to reflexively roll away in case she came in for the kill was nowhere to be found! A second or so passed before I realized I needed to get away fast, but without making sudden moves that would further antagonize her. I rolled over, got to my feet and slowly backed away. She didn’t move, just looked daggers at me. Both calves had raised their heads to see what all the commotion was about. Good sign!
 
Once I made it to the gate I assessed the damage: a sore spot on the underside of my right hip, one on my right arm where it hit the fence panel and shaky nerves that probably registered about an eight on the Richter scale. (Luckily that part of the fence isn’t barbed wire. That could have been really ugly!) I would have bruises and soreness but no major damage. What I realized I didn’t have was a bashed-in face or crushed chest from her butting me. Apparently, she shoved me just enough to make her point, I lost my balance and fell.
 
As I walked to the house, the magnitude of that lapse in judgment slammed into me. I was extremely lucky that Cow #59 is one of our tamest cows. We don’t keep cows that aren’t tame. But, as I stated earlier, the tamest cow on the place can morph into a raging beast to protect her calf. Also, I was alone at home and wasn’t packing my cell phone. Another major lapse. Of course, for the cell to be effective in an emergency, one has to be conscious to use it! Which I was…this time.
 
When Bill returned home, I debated for a couple of hours about whether or not to tell him about my mishap. Finally, I decided to come clean. He replayed all of the what-could-have-happened scenarios that I’d already been flogging myself with. When he asked whether or not I had my cell phone, I jokingly replied that one has to be conscious to use the cell in an emergency. He was not amused! Note to self: Next time, leave out the cell phone joke.
 
Next time? There will be no “next time”!

​Mama #59 and Twins – Mama’s face is muddy. Yes, we finally received rain, over six inches earlier this month.

A few days later, I tried for better pics of Family 59. Twin 59-2 was on one side of the creek hanging out with her friends and Mama and Twin 59-1 were on the other side. It's just so hard to get the whole family together for pictures! 

Current calf count: 46
 
Yes, we’re on the downhill side of 2018 fall calving which started August 21st. A week passed before another calf was born, but then the pace picked up during Labor Day weekend with three to five births per day for almost two weeks. And yes, we’ve had a little drama and adventure.
 
The drama started when Cow #301 birthed a calf but decided she liked Cow #66’s three-day-old calf better and tried to claim it. #301 isn’t a rookie; she’s had several calves so don’t know why she attempted the hostile take-over. Some quality bonding time in a corral pen quickly straightened out that situation. #301 is now a model mom—to her own calf!
 
The drama continued when First-Calf Heifer #166, Cow #66’s calf from two years ago, birthed a stillborn one night. Bill found FCH #166 fussing over the dead calf, trying to get it up for breakfast. Bill usually doesn’t attempt an adoption with a new mom but decided if #166 wanted a calf that badly, he’d try it. (In cattlemen-ese, the correct term is “grafting,” but you know how I like to personify these events!)
 
Bill bought a five-day-old Holstein bull calf from a dairy 20 minutes away. He skinned the pelt off the dead calf, punched a couple of holes in either end to lace baling twine through, tied it on the adoptee and smeared the pelt with afterbirth to make it smell like the dead calf. Then he pushed it into the pen with #166 and we cleared out to give them time to get acquainted. He went back a half-hour later to check on progress and there was plenty! The calf was having a late lunch and mama was licking it. We’ve done several of these adoptions but this one was accomplished in record time! 

Next up came the adventure: If you read my book and have followed my blog, you know this starts with me finding a potential crisis situation and Bill not being home. But at least he was only 40 minutes away, on his way home and reachable by cell phone.
 
Cricket and I headed out on our evening walk. As we left the house, I looked out at the pasture nearest the house where we have the first-calf heifers. Most of them were close, directly east of the house. But I thought I could see one lying down near the north fence. I grabbed the binoculars for a closer look and confirmed pending birth. Remembering to grab my cell—usually don’t take it on my walks—we walked the quarter mile to the north end. I didn’t want to spook the heifer, who was in hard labor, and cause undue stress so I circled around to her rear to see if there any progress. I saw what appeared to be one hoof protruding, still encased in the amniotic sac, and couldn’t determine if the hoof was attached to a front or back leg. In either case, we had a problem: If only one front hoof appears, the other one is bent back and has to be repositioned forward, then the calf can be pulled out with a good chance for a live birth, depending on how much time has elapsed. If only one back hoof appears, the unborn calf is in breech,  or backwards, position. The leg still has to be repositioned but chances of a live birth aren’t good.
 
Bill was at the ranch where our cow/calf pairs are wintered. We rent pasture during the grazing season and the rancher supervises the calving of 25 cows. Bill makes a couple of trips there each week, more if necessary, to check on progress and resupply mineral tubs. He didn’t answer the first time I called, but did about 15 minutes later. He was 20 minutes out and would step on it—for him, three miles above the speed limit! Meanwhile, I went to the barn, opened appropriate gates and the squeeze chute to prepare for the ordeal to come.
 
Bill arrived home and was able to herd FCH #460 to the corral. This part can be difficult with a stressed-out seasoned veteran cow, let alone a heifer that doesn’t know for sure what’s happening! He secured #460 in the chute and gathered together his bovine obstetric equipment. He gloved up with an OB sleeve and extended his arm into the vagina to assess the situation. Yes, one front leg was bent backwards but the calf was still alive. To reposition the leg forward requires pushing the calf back into the uterus, while the cow is trying to push it out! After several minutes, everything was in position and Bill hooked up the pulling equipment: OB strap wrapped around the hooves and connected to a chain which is connected to a fence stretcher. There is bovine OB equipment designed to pull calves, but Bill prefers to use his fence stretcher which has a ratchet to make pulling easier.
 
Bill’s interior examination had also revealed that the calf was large which made the pulling process very difficult. After several unsuccessful attempts, we called a neighbor for help. He arrived with his own pulling equipment, made a few adjustments and they both pulled. Still couldn’t get the shoulders through the opening. The neighbor asked about additional equipment, sending Bill and I to the barn to find it. I heard him shout and we both raced back to the chute. The calf, a big bull, was out and on the ground. He was alive, but breathing was shallow and raspy due to fluid taken into his lungs during the prolonged delivery.
 
While our attention was focused on the calf, the exhausted mom squatted, then laid down in the chute, creating a possible disaster. If a cow lies down immediately after delivery, a prolapsed uterus can occur. In a bovine prolapse, either the uterus or the vagina is expelled from the body. It’s a fixable condition, but requires a vet to push the organ back into the cow, then stitch up the opening. In my book, I described it as throwing out the baby with the bath water, then tossing the tub out after it!
 
Bill and the neighbor pushed and prodded to get her on her feet and out of the chute. A light buzz with the Hotshot, which we only use under extreme circumstances like this one, got her up and moving. Bill herded her toward the calf.
 
After the exhausting event, Bill knew the calf wouldn’t be able to get up and nurse. He mixed up a packet of just-add-water colostrum substitute and tube-fed the calf. When he finished, the cow was licking the calf, a good sign, so he left them for the night.
 
We had a celebratory happy hour at 11:30 and ate supper at midnight!
 
Due to the extremely stressful labor and delivery, FCH #460’s recovery has been slow and required administration of antibiotic and anti-inflammatory medications. Five days later, she was feeling better and her calf was doing great!

​Our 2018 calving season began on August 21st when Three-Toes gave birth to a bull calf.
 
Three-Toes is one of two heifers we kept from herd legend One-Toe. For the story of this special family, you can check out “One-Toe—Matriarch of the Toe Family,” posted March 14, 2017, and “One-Toe’s Legacy—The Toe Sisters,” posted a week later on March 21, 2017.
 
We are expecting 60 calves this fall, down from 70 last year. Earlier this year, Bill culled a few more of the older cows from the herd than he has in the past. The wisdom of that decision was confirmed when summer arrived early, grinding spring into the dust! Winter precipitation was almost non-existent in our area of Northeast Kansas. No spring rains and early scorching temperatures resulted in the worst drought since 2012, although some say this one is worse. Pasture grass dried up. Pond levels fell drastically, leaving sludge and the danger of a cow or calf becoming trapped in mud on a day when temps reached triple digits. Some cattlemen experienced a decrease in the numbers of quality hay bales which they then had to start feeding early to replace the pasture grass. The result: price of hay went up. Some cattlemen have had to sell part or all of their herds. Surprisingly, that hasn’t had much affect on the price of cattle. But then, other areas of the state have received much more rain.
 
We’ve coped fairly well with the drought. Bill saw the writing in the dust on the wall early and sold last fall’s calves—except for twelve heifers that will be bred this winter and join the herd—about two months earlier than usual, before the price started to fall and to take pressure off our pastures and water supply. He was forced to start feeding hay and grain in July. Cattle from three of the rented pastures were brought home so he wouldn’t have to haul feed to them. The ponds in those pastures were dangerously low anyway. He got lucky and found big round hay bales to buy at a reasonable price. We did have a decent hay crop but not enough to last through the winter for the few head we keep at home.
 
The good news is we’ve had a little over six inches of rain since August 7th! 

Meet ten of our 2018 first-calf heifers!

The class totals eleven this year. The eleventh is a familiar face, or a familiar ear tag number: Mosey, all grown up and expecting her first calf. Doesn’t she look excited about being a first-time mom! Those spots on her head are mud splatters. Mud is good. Mud means we had rain!

Mosey was born in September, 2016, and was orphaned a week later when her mama, Cow #25, succumbed to anaplasmosis. We needed to confine her to the barn and corral until she was comfortable being bottle-fed, but didn’t have any other orphans (thankfully!) for company. We still had Miracle, an orphan from 2015, in the herd so Bill put her in with Mosey as a companion. Miracle couldn’t fulfill surrogate mother duties because she didn’t have the feeding equipment. After she taught Mosey the difference between “companion” and “mother,” the arrangement worked beautifully! Their story, “Mama Miracle,” was posted September 23, 2016. 

Sadly, we lost Molly Bolt last winter to feline leukemia. He (Yes, he’s a male and came to us pre-named!) was a street-wise alley cat in Topeka taken in by a woman who rescued strays. His commanding arrogance whipped us and Cricket into shape quickly! I posted his story, “Molly Bolt” on January 10, 2014.

​Bill wanted another cat, or two, as mousers in the barn but decided to wait until spring to start looking. A neighbor’s cat had a litter in May and Bill got two females, one black and one gray. We named them Midnight and Stormy. 

​First Calf Heifer #372 had our 20th calf this afternoon in about 20 minutes, probably a record in our herd, even among our veteran mamas. Bill says that’s why he buys calfing-ease bulls. But this birth was exceptionally quick, like a sprint labor and delivery! Also, the calf wasted no time getting up to find the lunch table.

Will try to get pics for the next post.

…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!