Stuart Farm

Death and Dying Part 2

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When I started this website, one of my first blog posts was on Death, Dying, and Killing.  Reading it now, it all still holds true, but so much has happened since then.

Baby Herman

I befriended two of our meat birds, Herman and Izzy.  This was not a smart thing to do and Fred reminded me of this repeatedly.  After I lost Pee-Wee, my heart was broken.  Then Herman came along.  So small. So loving.  What else could I do but let him snuggle up against me and follow me everywhere?  Herman got in the layer area with Maxie and she held him down and tore his skin in a bad spot.  Instead of risking an infection, I decided to put him down.  We had another bird that was cut in the same way and the infection that set in after was not what I wanted to happen to him.

Izzy loved being on my lap.

Then there was Izzy.  Izzy was getting picked on relentlessly by the others.  Our niece first noticed her when visiting.  We took Izzy out of the coop and she followed our niece around much to her delight.  I kept her in the house a day or so and put her back with the others.  Every time I walk by she would run to the front of the coop trying to get to me.  The others were still picking on her, so into the old rabbit tractor she went.  Like Herman, she would follow me around, sit on my lap as I worked, and come when I called. I took her to a few events since she would sit on my arm or on top of a cage and people watch.  One day as she ran towards me, she stumbled and had a heart attack. My heart broke.

When Gertie had a litter of 14, I was stunned.  She had two runts that died within the first 2 days.  A third one died and we never found the body.  When a piglet dies, the mother will either take it away from the nest or eat it to keep predators away.

I try to be at every farrowing in case a piglet is in distress. I’ve pressed my lips to many a newborn piglet’s snout in hopes of reviving it.  Even though I’ve never succeeded, I still try.

A few years back, Momma had a calf die during birth.  It was horrible.  We hadn’t found her in time and the calf was breached hanging halfway out.  While Fred went to call the vet, I stayed with her and tried to keep her calm.  She was trying her best to push him out and I was trying my best to pull.  She finally got down on the ground and started to roll and that worked.  A very big bull finally came out.  Momma got up and went to lick the calf. Nothing. She looked at me and mooed the saddest moo ever. I started to cry and told her I was sorry.  Two steers were in the next paddock and gave her a low somber moo.  They knew. She knew. We were all sad the bull wasn’t moving.

It takes time for a momma cow to accept their baby is gone.  You can’t just take the calf, you have to let her mourn. You have to let her see the calf isn’t getting up and never will.  She stayed with him overnight and by morning joined the rest of the herd. Again, my heart was broken.

Right now, Spring is coming and in the next few months, piglets and calves will be born. It’s bittersweet anticipation.  In one of my favorite books, The Winter Room by Gary Paulsen, the main character Eldon says his teacher talks of Spring as a time of birth. Being a farm boy, he knows it’s also a time of death. That’s what raising livestock has also taught me.

I let my heart fill with joy with each beautiful birth and maintain it there through each death that may come. To hope everyone makes it is a fool’s folly. To never stop caring and trying and standing in awe of all the wonder I get to witness and participate in, is what I strive for.

Zeke, Our Goofball Guardian

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Today is Zeke’s 4th birthday and since his sister Maxie has her own post, I thought it was about time to tell his story.

When our friend Kim adopted Lucy who was pregnant, I happily watched on Facebook, thankful I was not dealing with puppies anymore.  Lucy had 11 puppies. 11 adorable puppies.

I would see the pups and go out to Maxie, thinking I was so happy she was finally out of her puppy stage at a little over 3 years old and could be left alone with the chickens. But then I notice her getting up a bit slower. Not being quite as eager as she once was to run the length of the field.  And it hit me–in a few more years, she’ll be on her way to retirement. Who will replace her?

A puppy.

I went back and forth with Kim about which one was available, who did she think had more Komondor than Shepard in them, what about this, and what about that, until I’m sure she thought I was nuts.

I wanted a boy, and since most were already spoken for, we got Zeke. Looking back, it was like no one else chose him because he was meant for us.

I spent the next couple of months watching him grow on Facebook and waiting for him to get big enough (and neutered) to come home.

When the time came, I drove up solo with the backseats down so he could either hang back or come close to me.  We had a little playtime together while I visited with Kim and her mom. I filled out all the paperwork, got his records, his blanket someone had gifted all the puppies with, scooped him up for a quick photo, and away we went.

He stayed in the back with his head on his blanket most of the ride home. After a little puke, he came up front and curled up in the passenger floorboard. We had a nice chat about his new home, his new big sister, and what was expected of him.

At home, we let him and Maxie sniff a bit across the fence and then I went in with him to make sure all was good with them. Maxie was, well, not impressed. Zeke would try to get close to her and she would look at him and walk away. But, slowly, day by day, she let him stay a bit closer.

Part of the reason we got her replacement while she was still working was so she could help teach him what he needed to do, and more importantly not do, with the chickens. That didn’t quite go as planned. While we lost probably 8-10 chickens to Maxie during training, Zeke topped out at 3-4. I’d love to say that was because of Maxie showing him the ropes, but that was not the case.

Once when he had a chicken, Maxie just watched him until she saw that I was watching. Then she took off after him, pinned him, then looked up at me. Needless to say, I was not impressed with her delayed response.

At Kim’s, Zeke was around a lot of birds. While that in and of itself doesn’t train them with poultry, it does help. So I went back to what I did with Maxie: supervised time with the chickens.  Within a few months, I felt really confident in his ability and he has been great with all the chickens ever since (knock on wood).

After he was here for a month, he followed Maxie’s lead and when some bald eagles were circling the pasture, he went straight into protection mode.  Barking like crazy and sounding pretty fierce for a big fluff ball.  It’s taken him a while to find his own groove and not rely on Maxie all the time, but he definitely has and he takes his job very seriously.

When we have layers and broilers both running, Maxie gets the cush job of the layers and Zeke stays with the broilers.  They spend about 6 months together and 6 months apart. When we put them back together, it’s like they saw each other the day before–no problem except Zeke annoying Maxie to play.

One day collecting eggs, a new hen was pecking me and I was yelling, “ouch, ouch, ouch!” Zeke came barreling down from the other side of the field in a full vicious bark and stopped right in front of me scanning for the danger.  Oh, my heart! Even after watching him with the chickens, it never occurred to me that he would be protective of me.

He’s grown into a big beautiful dog but still has the biggest goofball ways. He loves rolling around and if you are even somewhat close to the ground, he’s in your lap laid out into a full stretch. He loves nosing around to see what we’re doing and laying down right where we need to be offering up his belly for a scratch.

Just like Maxie, I don’t know what we’d do without him.

Corky’s Piglets

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I’m always excited about piglets.  The weeks leading up to the big day, trying to guess when it will happen, pampering the momma, even staying up late in the freezing cold, it’s all worth it.

Last week, when I got home from driving my afternoon school bus route, Corky had started to farrow.  The nice thing about attending farrows is I get to know the changes in breathing and movement that go along with the process.

As I watched her, I knew she still had piglets to birth.  The way she kicked her legs, a certain grunt, it all said: “I’m working on more!”

I cleaned each one up and told Corky she was doing a great job. We don’t use heat lamps, so I made sure each stayed close to her for warmth.

I stayed with her for two hours while she added 3 piglets to her litter.

When she was having trouble getting one out, she’d half sit up, and roll back down.  Sure enough, one would come out right after.

But when she stood up, turned around, laid back down, I knew that was that. Her breathing slowed and was easy.  She softly grunted at the piglets to come eat and they did.

I waited another 20 minutes or so and the afterbirth came.  My heart sank.

She delivered 5 piglets.  One stillborn with leg deformities, four alive.  One of the four also had deformed legs and we had to put it down.

That leaves three piglets with this litter.  Her previous litters were eight and two.

If Corky were solely a pet, I’d be happy to keep her and never get another piglet from her. But she’s not a pet. And sows that produce so few piglets don’t work for our business.

These were to be our farmer market hogs, so our pork will be in short supply for the summer. Not a good thing.

Having piglets, even just three, is hard on the sow. After the piglets are weaned, we’ll let her regain her conditioning and make an appointment at the butcher.

It’s not an easy decision to make, but a necessary one for us to be sustainable, to continue producing meat, and to keep lesser quality genetics out of production.

I will enjoy these few months with Corky and when the time comes, cry my eyes out when we say goodbye.

Goodbye to the Queen

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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.