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.

​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.

Replacement Heifers: “Hey, who burned our food?”
 
Me: “Ladies, this isn’t your food this winter. Your food is in the big bale feeders and grain bunks at the other end of this pasture. When Bill burned the brome hay field today, some of the flames crossed the fenceline and scorched the grass just a little. No harm done.”
 
Replacement Heifers: “Huh! This short new grass was tasty to snack on between meals. We don’t like blackened munchies!”
 
Last Sunday’s weather forecast was for intervals of clouds and sunshine with temps in the 50’s, winds out of the northwest at five to fifteen miles per hour. Bill’s conclusion: It would be a good day to burn the brome hay field, particularly since brome should be burned by February 1st for best quality of the regrowth.
 
This pyrotechnical task would be conducted differently than previous burns. Normally, Bill conducts a burn solo, using the mini-truck, propane gas bottle from the grill and a plastic tank of water. But, due to a recent medical procedure on his right shoulder, he would need support staff: Neighbor Jim to set the back burn and main event from his ATV using our propane tank; Kaw Township Fire Department volunteers would provide three trucks for water support. Bill would ride shotgun in one of the trucks and supervise the young firefighters.
 
The brome hay field is only eight and one-half acres, but due to good grassland management—fertilization and burning when necessary—Bill gets a good yield of hay bales, both large and small. Burning is not an annual event, but conditions from last year indicated a burn would be advisable. Hay was put up in early summer. Then came the summer and early fall rains that triggered weed growth. Burning the field before this spring’s regrowth would eliminate dried, dead weeds and produce higher quality brome.
 
The wind velocity on Sunday was closer to the fifteen miles per hour prediction but because of the direction, any flames that encroached beyond the fence would be on our own property.
 
Neighbor Jim set the back burn.

​The water tank truck stayed on the road, ready to reload the smaller trucks if necessary.

​The other two trucks worked the perimeter, dousing flames that crossed the fenceline. 

Just the right amount of flame for a good, controlled burn.

​Oh-oh! The fire crossed into the soybean stubble. No real damage was done, but the flames needed to be contained before the stiff northwest wind blew them much further.

Good burn, guys! Thanks for your help! From our place, they were headed to one of the hay fields we rent, then to a neighbor’s field.

​This is what happens when, later, you find a small flare-up and all you have to beat it out with is a plastic snow shovel!

After a wet spring, 16.5 inches of rain beginning April 18th and running almost up to Memorial Day weekend, the clouds moved on and the sun came out. Temps are now in the 90’s with winds 10 to 20 miles per hour from the south/southwest. Perfect hay weather!

Pyro Man decided on the spur of the moment one morning to torch the dead leaves off the iris and daylilies—in a skiff of snow!  Bill torches the iris beds in early spring to control iris leaf spot, a fungal disease that over-winters on the dead leaves. Burning kills the spores. In addition, burning kills iris borer, a destructive insect that over-winters in its larvae, or “worm” stage, in the rhizome above ground. Day lilies are also susceptible to a leaf spot fungus. Goodbye disease and pestilence; hello gorgeous iris and day lilies! 
 
He assembled the equipment: propane bottle from the gas grill with hose and flame thrower attachment (blow torch nozzle). Only problem was he was low on propane so the flame thrower didn’t throw flames very far. But it got the job done.

We experienced very windy conditions late winter and early spring. Opportunities to burn pastures were few. Exactly one month after his practice session with the flowers, Bill received the county dispatcher’s blessing to burn pasture. This time, he started with a full gas bottle! 

In two of my previous posts, “Pasture Pyrotechnics” dated April 12, 2014, and “Pyro Man Fires Up the Big Event” from March 25, 2015, I explained why native grass pastures are burned and the process we use. I included lots of pictures!
 
This year, I remembered to take a “before” picture. The pasture we burned is the tan/brown area in front of the tree line in the background. 

Here are some “during” pics:

The burn is complete! The unburned areas contain a lot of clover that has already greened up and won’t burn. But, overall, Bill proclaimed this year’s effort a “good burn!” 

Two days later, on Easter Sunday, we woke up to this… 

almost three inches of wet snow! Bill was rreeaallyy glad we were able to burn when we did! The temperature warmed quickly a few hours later and the snow became an Easter morning memory.
 
This purple hyacinth isn’t fazed by the snow! It stands with a snow-capped peak, undaunted amid the daffodil leaves.

The daffodils in bloom weren’t quite as hearty but the buds were protected and opened a few days later.  
 
Other spring happenings:
 
The little plastic greenhouse has baby spring greens ready to pick and toss in a salad bowl.

​Asparagus is up and we’ve already cut some. Delicious!

These two calves were actually a Thanksgiving, not a spring, happening. Pilgrim, on the left, was born November 22nd, and Mayflower was born on Thanksgiving. They were the last two fall calves. When I was taking photos for the “Romper Room” posts, I got lucky and found these two together.

​We’re eagerly anticipating future spring happenings: morel mushrooms (soon!), more asparagus, iris blooming, Sparks, KS flea market where we’ll find more vintage rusty treasures for June’s Junque Garden, the return of the cows from Winter Resort Ranch and much more!

We’re under siege! We’ve been invaded by varmints!
 
Some little furry animals decided our barns are a Hilbert Hilton Inn Winter Resort, offering not only warm sleeping quarters well-insulated with hay, but unlimited meals and beverages anytime. Of course, they expect us to provide these lavish accommodations free of charge!
 
A few weeks ago, about the time our beautiful fall weather turned into a typical Kansas cold winter, Bill noticed the water in the cat’s dish in the old barn was disappearing. Our cat, Molly Bolt, gets fresh water at the house so doesn’t usually drink much in the barn. His food bowl was also being licked cleaner than usual. Molly Bolt loves his food, but doesn’t lick every minute trace of it from the bowl. We put his supper on top of a tall grain bin enclosure out of reach of most critters. Or so we thought.
 
Bill set a live trap in the barn, baited with—what else?—cat food. The suspected culprits were opossums or raccoons. A couple of mornings later, he found an unhappy opossum in the trap. He loaded the trap in the back of the truck, drove a mile or so down the road and relocated the critter to a new home. When he came home, he reset and re-baited the trap in the barn.

Bill also assumed the open tubs of calf grain in the newer barn next to the old barn would attract hungry varmints. That assumption would prove correct. But he only owned one live trap. (Clarification: The “old” barn was on the property when we moved here in 2008 and is over 100 years old. The “newer” barn was added after we moved in. We also have two more barns built recently.)
 
About the same time, we were loading firewood from a lean-to at the old barn to bring to the house when we discovered evidence a packrat had set up housekeeping in the wood pile. The furnishings/food supply included small potatoes and onions, walnuts, corncobs, small twigs and swatches of burlap sack. I suspected the last two items were for curtains and rods.
 
Time to go shopping for more live traps. Bill came home armed with a raccoon/opossum model and a smaller packrat model. He set and baited the traps and we waited.
 
One morning when Bill was feeding the three bottle calves in the newer barn, Cricket found a possum in the trap and it wasn’t “playing possum!” Bill heard her barking and growling and something else hissing and growling so went to check it out. Another possum went for a ride.
 
Over the next few weeks, he caught nine possums between the two barns, no raccoons and no packrats. The possums were relocated to the new colony Bill established, “Possum Hollow.”  The latest arrival sprinted out of the trap so fast after Bill released the door that he nearly missed the photo op! Didn’t know possums could move that fast.

The raccoon/opossum model live trap is also the perfect size to catch another variety of thieving varmints…skunks! Yep, it happened. One morning Bill found one of the stinkers in the trap. He managed to pick up the trap keeping the loaded end of the skunk faced away from him, carry it to the truck and haul it away to a new home without getting maced.
 
He wasn’t as lucky the second time. The skunk was seriously ticked off and launched its natural hazardous chemical warfare! Bill threw a tarp over the trap to keep the noxious gas contained while he loaded the prisoner into the back of the mini-truck and transported it to the newly-established skunk colony.

​Ditto for the third time! He now has one smelly tarp. Soaking his coat, jeans and gloves in a bucket of hydrogen peroxide and baking soda-laced water restored all items to acceptably wearable condition.
 
The bottle calves weren’t very pleased about the odor in their dining room and bedroom. Bill opened the double doors at both ends of the barn to air it out.
 
To date, Bill has relocated nine possums and three skunks. The packrat is still at large.

Osage oranges, hedge apples, hedge balls, monkey brains – whatever nickname you know them by, they are also cattle chokers and potential killers. If a hedge apple or piece obstructs the esophagus, anything the animal eats or drinks will come back up and be vomited out. Bloating will also likely occur as gas accumulates in the rumen and the animal is unable to belch it up.
 
Our hedge apple crisis occurred one evening during the week in November when we worked cattle. Yes, just one more incident to deal with near the end of an already long day!
 
Below is a picture of a hedge apple on our property.

Hedge apples are the fruit of hedge, also known as Osage orange, trees. Lime green in color and usually about the size of a softball—although they can be much larger and weigh as much as four pounds—they ripen and drop from the trees in late summer and fall. Even the smaller ones are heavy for their size and because they are also very hard, if you’re walking under a tree and get beaned by one, you can probably expect a knot to develop at the point of impact. A four-pounder is a concussive experience!
 
Unfortunately, there are many hedge trees in the timber on our property. Trying to keep the balls picked up or cutting down the trees are not practical options. So far, we’ve been lucky our cattle prefer grass and hay, even though we occasionally see a cow chewing on something that makes her foam at the mouth. It’s undoubtedly a hedge apple, but at least she’s chewing it, not trying to swallow it whole.
 
But this fall, our luck nearly ran out.
 
Late in the afternoon after a long day of working cattle, Bill left to take a trailer load to the ranch and Cricket and I set out on our evening walk. We’d circled the perimeter of the pasture and were headed to the water tank to get Cricket a drink when I heard a calf bawling non-stop and distressed. I detoured away from the tank and up a short hill to the bale feeder. Most of the cows were either at the feeder or nearby and the calves were having supper. One little calf was standing off to the side, bawling its head off, probably because it was hungry. I checked the ear tag, #216, and searched the cows for a matching number. No mama near the feeder. Then I remembered seeing a cow at the water tank.
 
The cow at the tank was the matching mama, Ginger. She was drinking so I gave Cricket her drink while I waited for the cow to finish, assuming she would go to her calf. Ginger drank for several minutes then just stood at the tank, not moving, apparently ignoring her bawling calf. My first thought in a situation like this is to try to drive the cow to the calf. Bill says to just leave them alone and they will figure it out. That’s really hard for me to do!
 
As I was debating what to do, Ginger lowered her head and expelled what appeared to be water followed by foam from her mouth. I’d never seen this happen. She drank more water, then moved away from the tank. I moved behind her and tried to drive her up the short hill to her calf. She took a few lethargic steps, then stopped and expelled more water and foam. I gently prodded her flank to encourage her to move and noticed her side felt hard, no give at all. I backed up a step and looked at her. Her sides were rounded like she was carrying a calf! I knew that couldn’t be possible.
 
After ignoring my repeated attempts to drive her, Ginger slowly walked away from the tank but not toward her calf. I decided to wait until Bill returned home and tell him about this situation.
 
After listening to my explanation, Bill said Ginger was bloated. The foaming at the mouth could indicate she’d swallowed a hedge apple and it was lodged in her esophagus since she couldn’t keep water down. He went to the pasture and found Ginger and her calf together near the water tank. He verified the cow was bloated but she didn’t seem to be in distress, so decided to wait until the next day to do anything. He would do some internet research and consult with a vet for guidance.
 
The next day was another long one of working and hauling. Bill checked on Ginger early in the morning. She was in the same area, still lethargic and ignored his attempts to get her to walk. Herding her to the barn and into the chute to deal with the suspected blockage would be impossible. Late in the afternoon after Bill left with the last load, Cricket and I headed to the pasture for our walk and to check on Ginger. Her calf was with the rest of the herd near the feeders and wasn’t bawling this time. We had assumed it was at least getting grain from the creep feeder and, hopefully, a little milk from Ginger or one of the other cows.
 
Ginger wasn’t with the herd so I checked the water tank—not there either. Knowing that in her weakened, lethargic state she couldn’t have wandered far, I searched hidden areas like tall grass, ditches and the creek. My hopes of finding her alive were quickly slipping, like sliding down a muddy bank to a bottomless creek.
 
And that’s where I found her—in the creek. But it wasn’t bottomless; there was only about a foot of water in it. She was lying down but had her head up. She was alive!
 
Since the bank on my side of the creek was steep and Ginger was nearer to the opposite bank, I trotted back about thirty yards to the homemade concrete-and-rock bridge, crossed over and doubled back to Ginger’s location. I wasn’t dressed for creek-wading, wearing tennis shoes and not my gumboots, so I grabbed a stick and carefully worked my way down the bank. There was a rocky area beside her where I stood and gently prodded her with the stick, trying to encourage her to stand. She either wouldn’t or couldn’t get up and after several minutes of prodding, I left her to go back to the house and wait for Bill. I saw that she was still bloated.
 
The vet Bill consulted agreed Ginger very likely had a hedge apple stuck in her esophagus that blocked anything from going down to the rumen and prevented her from belching which resulted in bloating. He advised Bill to cut a length of small diameter garden hose and remove the fitting on the end. Carefully guide the hose down the cow’s throat, around the hedge apple and into the rumen to release the gas. Then use a longer length of larger diameter hose to push the blockage down to the rumen.
 
When Bill arrived home he fashioned the de-bloating hoses. Then we gathered up the rest of the supplies: rechargeable spotlight and pruning shears to make adjustments on the hose pieces. We loaded the mini-truck, put on our gumboots and headed for the creek.
 
Ginger was in the same place I’d left her. We carried the supplies down the bank, I held the spotlight and Bill carefully waded in. Fortunately, we’d been having mild weather but both the air and water temperatures were cool—not a good night for a moonlight swim! Ginger was still strong enough to resist Bill’s efforts to guide the hose down her throat but too weak to get up and walk away. After several attempts, he finally pushed enough hose into her mouth to go down her throat. He continued to feed the hose into her mouth and shortly, we heard the hissing sound of released gas. This wonderful sound lasted several minutes and was accompanied by a delightfully obnoxious odor! Well, considering the last 24 hours and the alternative, a dead cow, it was delightful to us!
 
Once the de-bloating and dislodging procedure was complete, Bill tried to get Ginger up but she was still too weak from the ordeal. We left her, packed up the supplies and drove back to the house.
 
The next morning when Bill checked on her, she was up and on dry land, the calf was nursing and life was good! A couple of weeks later, Bill hauled this pair and four pairs of late-calving cows and their calves to the ranch.

Any chore Bill asks me to do with an explanation that begins “All you have to do is…” and ends with “…Should be a piece of cake!” is a potential farm fiasco. I learned this the hard way—no surprise!—a few years ago. The chore he assured me would take only twenty minutes morphed into an epic adventure of over two hours! This saga, “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie,” became one of the longest chapters in my book. Here’s a shortened version of what went down then.
 
It was November. Bill was working cattle and hauling them to the ranch where they would spend the winter. I was still working full-time and not yet a Cattle-Working Apprentice. These were his instructions for the chore he asked me to do late one afternoon:
 
“I need to load out the cows and calves in Bobbie’s pasture first thing tomorrow morning, but I can’t load from Bobbie’s so they need to be moved over to John’s pasture. Take the little truck and go over to John’s pasture. Drive to his back fence and go through the little gate to Bobbie’s pasture and look for the cows and calves. They’re probably at the bale feeder by the pond. Rattle a bucket of range cubes to get their attention, and when they start to follow you, drive the truck back through the little gate. Once they’re all in John’s pasture, shut the gate and you’re done. Should take about twenty minutes max. Piece of cake!”
 
Then he added, “Oh, and take a five-gallon bucket of grain. When the first few cows go through the gate to John’s pasture, dump grain on the ground to keep them occupied so they won’t be tempted to go back through. Then grab the bucket of range cubes, walk back to Bobbie’s pasture and round up any stragglers.”
 
Twenty minutes, huh? I loaded the two buckets in the back, Cricket jumped in the cab to ride shotgun and off we went.
 
I’d been to these pastures previously with Bill to check cows and calves, but never on a solo mission. Plus, I’d never herded more than one or two cows by myself. Supposedly simple tasks were about to become monumental obstacles.
 
There were gates, three of them. Two were heavy tubular steel swing gates that I lugged open and shut to enter John’s pasture. The third gate that Bill referred to as the “little gate,” the one between the two pastures, was a bona fide antique: four strands of barbed wire strung between three small hedge posts. Here’s a picture of a similar gate in one of our pastures. This gate has fence stays instead of hedge posts to keep the barbed wire from sagging.

Opening the gate wasn’t too difficult. The challenge was closing it. I had to pick up the end post and drag the gate across the opening, pull it tight, position the bottom end of the post in a wire loop near the ground, then pull the post even tighter and muscle the top loop down over the top end of the post. The first picture below shows a gate post on the left and a fence post on the right. The second pic shows the bottom wire loop and the third pic, the top loop.

I struggled with this gate not just once but twice because, after the cows and calves were transferred from Bobbie’s to John’s, I didn’t realize until we were more than halfway across John’s pasture that two calves were missing. I had counted cows, but the herd headed across the pasture before I could count calves. This meant going back to the other pasture to find the calves who probably realized they were alone and frantically searching for their mamas, aunts and cousins. Then I had to herd the panic-stricken little calves to the gate, through it and toward the rest of the cows and calves. The sun had set and dusk was rapidly changing to dark. When I tried to find the lever to turn on the truck lights, I washed the windshield instead!
 
There were other obstacles: A deeply rutted area in my driving path that, if not navigated carefully and with four-wheel drive finesse, would result in getting high-centered. Four-wheel drive is useless if the tires don’t touch the ground. On one trip through this area, referred to in my book as the “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” I dropped the front end of the truck into a hole. In attempting to engage four-wheel drive I pulled up on the emergency brake lever instead, then couldn’t figure out how to disengage it. Blaspheming ensued!
 
After I fought with the old gate and navigated through the “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” the cows found the buckets of the left-over grain and range cubes in the truck bed and ransacked it, upsetting the buckets, rocking the truck and making me run a bovine gauntlet to get in and out of the cab.
 
That epic adventure, which started out as a “piece of cake” and quickly degenerated into a piece of…um…cow pie, was a defining moment—a two-hour moment—in my life as a farm wife.
 
Fast-forward to this year. Late the afternoon of the first day of working cattle, as Bill was leaving for the ranch with a trailer-load, he stopped and asked me, “Can you run over to John’s and Bobbie’s pastures and move the cows and calves so I can load them from John’s tomorrow morning?” Again, the instructions started with “All you have to do is…” and ended with “…Should be a piece of cake!” There it was: “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie” déjà vu!
 
The instructions were mostly the same as before. But this year’s potential epic adventure rerun would be simpler. Bill had replaced the barbed wire gate with a hinged one made of tubular steel with a chain and clip fastener, similar to the one pictured below.

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​He also had bladed and smoothed the hazardous rutted area.
 
When I arrived at the new gate between the two pastures, the cows and calves were all near the fence. I shook the bucket of range cubes and they came running, including all the calves. No stragglers. As per instructions, I led them across John’s pasture to the catch pen, poured grain in the feed bunk and tossed flakes of hay on the ground. Bill would come over the next morning and call them back to the catch pen. Expecting to be fed, they would respond with great gusto!
 
This year’s “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie” potential farm fiasco only took about thirty minutes: no “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” no old barbed wire gate, no stragglers, no ransacking the bed of the truck to get to the grain and no blaspheming! Hallelujah!