This time last Sunday, I was jumping in the truck and racing to my old timers house to get help.  I didn’t have time to hope the cell towers would cooperate and put my call through, I needed him to come back to the farm, and I was racing against the setting sun.

When I jumped out of the truck, he stopped what he was doing and hurried towards me, “what happened?”

“We found our cow, Queen, down and she’s not getting up.”  We got in our trucks and rushed back to the farm.

Her feet were pushed back behind her and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them under.  The three of us were able to roll and pull until we had both feet under her so she could stand.  Cattle get up back first, so unless the back legs are tucked under, they can’t get up.  It didn’t make a difference. More than likely, the bull mounted her, and with so much rain, she slipped and injured herself.

When cattle go down, it’s very hard to get them back up. Even with harnesses and lifts–neither of which we have–they usually don’t recover.  So we weighed our options.

1–give her a steroid shot and hope it works.  If it doesn’t, the meat withdrawal period is 7 days, so she will stay downed while we hope nothing else goes wrong in the next week, like bloat, and we come out to find her dead.  She lays around in her own urine and manure, she is nursing, so could also develop mastitis while laying on her udder, get a fever, meat wasted–not an option.

2–butcher her and save the meat, end/avoid her suffering, and bottle feed the calf–best option.

Making a choice like this is hard and I can’t help but second guess myself. The next night, I went to my old timers house and the first thing out of his mouth was, “ya’ll are making the right choice”.  And I know we did.  We’ve been down this road before. We’ve tried, it doesn’t work, and then I feel horrible for not ending it all it sooner.

The problem is, processors aren’t allowed to accept downed animals, even if they know it’s an injury.  On farm slaughter was our only option. Luckily, Fred found someone who has the skill, know-how, and most importantly, the time to do an on-farm butcher.

It was so emotional overwhelming for me, when our neighbor arrived with his tractor to hoist her, as soon as he said one word to me, I buried my face in his coveralls crying.

The guy who did the kill was AMAZING.  One shot and that was it.  She literally did not move a muscle after.

We want to butcher a steer ourselves one day, so this was a learning experience, too.  I watched everything he did and he was really good about explaining the whys and hows.

Since the meat isn’t inspected, it’s all for us. Which is nice since we only save a few steaks for ourselves from inspected beef.  I saved most of the organs and feet for the dogs and everything else went into the compost. I tried to find someone to take the hide with no luck.

Since Queen had a calf, Bo, the day after we said goodbye to Queen, we went to get him to bring him to our place and start bottle feeding.

My old timer came over to check how the butchering went and agreed to help me catch Bo. I could get pretty close to him, but he was too quick to grab, so old timer lassoed him.  The herd did not like that!  They all rushed the fence bellowing and snorting. We had just enough time to lift Bo onto the truck bed, close the tailgate, and get out of there.

Getting him out of the truck and into the stall was much easier.  Once in, I gave him some time to settle down and munch on some hay. His stall is next to Momma Pig, so he had some company.

Later, I went in with a bottle to try to convince him to trust me. Day one didn’t go too well.  Bo drank some water and ate some hay, but wanted nothing to do with the bottle.  Or me.  I sat on the hay, sang to him, and talked to Momma Pig as he watched me.

Day two was a bit better.  In the morning, I checked on him and worked at getting close and handling him.  He was very reluctant, until I gave his chest a rub. With that, he turned his head to mine and rested against my cheek. Bingo!

In the afternoon, we started over.  Rubbing on the rump and down the flanks. Walking in circles in the stall. Chest rub and he stopped in his tracks. After some awkward tries, he just about figured out the bottle and downed about 2 cups of milk.  Not the best, but a start.

Day three was much better.  I approached him as he laid on his hay in the manger and he didn’t budge.  A few scratches on the rump, and still, perfectly content. Finally coaxed him out of the manger and started the bottle.  He wasn’t latching on well so I tried a bucket.  He could drink from the water trough, and took right to the bucket. A bottle is best for the suckling action and comfort, but not getting enough food is worse, so open top bucket feeding it is. I dip my thumb in the milk and let him suck on that for comfort.

It is very tempting to rub on his head and face, but I don’t. Right now, it would be cute to give some head scratches.  But, when he’s three and weighs over half a ton, I don’t want him coming at me with his head down for a scratch.  Many a farmer has been mired into the ground and killed that way.

We are still trying to decide if we should castrate him and what his end purpose is.  We could save him as a bull and either keep him or sell him.  That way Queen’s genes will continue. If we castrate him, he can either go to beef or be trained as an oxen and help us work.  Ideally, we would train a heifer, so we could also milk her later, but nothing on a farm is ever ideal.

I sent this photo to a friend and asked her why I do this to myself. Her reply? “Because it is good for your soul”.  And it is. So, right now, I’m just trying to enjoy a little down time with him every day while I can.

Two weeks ago we had our first real snow. Of course, Queen decided that was the perfect time to have her calf, as well as break into a different pasture.

She was super late calving, so when I found her laying down off by herself with snow on its way, I was not happy. How am I going to manage a downed cow all on my own? When she stood up with blood on her tail, I made her start walking and frantically started searching for a calf. All the while telling myself, “she’s up, that’s the important thing. I can deal with a calf or a miscarriage, not a downed cow”.

As I walked her into a stand of cedars, it started to flurry. She stood there, back hunched, but nothing coming out as I backed into the branches for extra cover. I turned to see the peanut gallery lined up watching. Every other cow, steer, calf, and bull was in an almost perfect line, peeking out of the trees, watching her. Lilly was in a tizzy, mooing softly, pacing, obviously worried. I trust these guys to know what’s good or bad more than myself, so seeing both of these things did not set my mind at ease.

Queen would look back at me from time to time and I decided to give her some space and let whatever was going to happen, happen. I knew what was going on, I was close, and I had my herd watching and hopefully alerting me to any new developments.  With one ear turned to her, I went to check the broken fence and make repairs.

As I cursed Fred for making a permanent power jump right where I needed to fix, I started the walk all the way back to the barn to cut the power and something in the middle of the next pasture caught my eye.

I turned just in time to see a little calf butt plop down in a tuft of grass. YES! Alive and, once I get it over to Queen, well.  As always, new calves are too tired to run away, so I gave it a quick check and as I grabbed the back leg to reveal the gender, I said a quick, “please be a girl, please be a girl!”  Queen has always given us boys, and having a girl from her and Redd would be a genetic jackpot.

A boy.  Now is the perfect time to do our crimping castration.  He’s easy to handle and still a bit out of it from being born.  But I don’t have the implement, nor the ability to hold him by myself, so that would have to wait.

By now, the snow is coming down pretty hard and this boy isn’t moving.  I am screaming at Queen to call him.  Taunting her that I am touching her baby and what’s she going to do about it. Nothing. I pick him up by the backside so she can see me handling him and still, nothing.  All I want is one good moo calling him to her and my job will be so much easier. But for some reason, she is just fine with me breaking my back to get him to stand, both of us getting covered in snow.

By this time I m screaming “Baby boy, you HAVE to GET UP!!!!  You HAVE to get OUT OF THE SNOW!!!!”  But he won’t listen. I decide dragging him by his back legs is better than leaving him in the snow with zero cover.  He decides otherwise. Ok, the front legs.  That gets me about 2 feet closer to Queen, and still no moo from her.  One more try with the front and he pops up.

I’ve found the only way to get a newborn calf to move is walk directly behind it, gently nudging on each side of the rump and guiding it with my hands.  And we we’re walking!

I get him to duck under the fence as Queen lets out a low moo and he walks around to nurse.  With my smell all over him, Queen starts to methodically lick every place I touched, side eyeing me as she decontaminates him.  Lilly comes over to try to lick him and Queen lets her know she needs no help. I give him a few minutes to eat and then usher them back into the trees so she can find a spot to bed him down.

Three days later, we get about 4-5 inches of snow.  As much as I want to go find that little boy, I know it’s a waste of time.  When a cow beds down her calf, you can’t find it.  Somehow they can hide them in a tuff of grass and you will walk right past them.  It’s some kind of crazy momma cow magic.

Friday, I walk down and see Queen. She is up, bag is full, but not too full, and she looks well.  I don’t see baby boy.  Queen is calm, and so is Lilly, so I am sure where ever the calf is, he’s fine.

A week after his birth is the first time I see him. He’s playing with BJ, nursing, roaming among the herd, bright eyed and active.  Keeping our herd on pasture year round definitely makes for hearty stock!

So what do you name a little boy who survived a snow storm on his birthday and an even worse one a few days later?  You name him after the god of snow, Boreas. Bo for short.  We haven’t decided on castration or not.  And the thought of wrestling him in the cold and mud is not that appealing right now. I’m getting enough of that with the pigs. So if he stays a bull, his official name will be Boreas Rey de la Nieve, Boreas King of the Snow!