I was all set to post about yesterday's
Goodwill Games... it was such a wonderful day, filled with frosty breath clouds, dozens of happy galloping kids, mountains of meat pies, gallons of coffee and ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
...
However Mr Incredible put paid to that scheme. He yelled out for me to 'come down to the yards PRONTO' (or words to that effect) just as I was finished coffee #2 for the morning and settling in at the computer to check out yesterday's action photos. I reluctantly arose - clad in my pastel candy-striped pajama pants, my white t-shirt, my maroon puffy parker and my slippers. Hearing the urgency in his voice, I made the executive decision not to protest my state of un-ready-for-the-yards-dress, flung on my rubber boots, and trotted off after him.
...
A cow we recently purchased had gone into labour in a paddock near the house. Now that's not so unusual. But she is not just any cow. She is a black bawly (white-faced) cow, carrying an 'embryo transfer' calf (when a frozen embryo made of extracted eggs from a donor cow of good breeding, and the semen collected from a specially bred bull, is implanted into a third animal for gestation). We had been watching her carefully, to ensure this arrival made it safely on the ground.
...
She had 'bagged up' (made a good lot of milk) and was looking very close to calving in the last few days. This morning, Mr I had noticed crows collecting around her down the paddock, and two little hooves poking out. He decided it was time to help her out.
...
I have to say, I have helped 'pull' a calf before, but never (a) one worth as much as this one, and (b) with much success. To explain, our cows generally give birth out in the paddock, to calves they have helped create. Usually their own genetics help shape the calf's resulting birth size, allowing for an easy birth. It is rare that any have calving problems but when they do, by the time we find them and get them into a yard, the calf has been through a lot of stress. So I was concerned and trying to prepare myself for a worst-case scenario.
...
We put the cow into the crush (race) and tied a rope to each little protruding hoof (still soft, I noticed) and pulled rhythmically, giving her time to recover and try and help push as well tugged. I slid my arm into the calf's head to try and ease that part of it forward, while Mr I pulled on the ropes. After about 20 minutes, we made progress, with the head becoming visible. The calf's tongue was lolling out from it's mouth and its eyes rolled back in its head - I have to admit that my heart sank. It just didn't look good.
...
Then a hoof pulled back slightly and the long pale pink tongue moved. My heart leapt - it was alive! We put renewed efforts into pulling on the ropes. Suddenly, with a push from mama cow, the head slithered towards us and two confused eyes glared at us from amongst the birth debris. My heart was doing a fair impression of an Irish jig in my chest and we called at each other to pull harder. At this stage I was cradling the front end of a calf against my chest. My white-t-shirt-clad chest. My maroon puff parka was already a goner - birthing bits smeared left, right and centre. I could not have cared less. The hips of the calf appeared stuck, and we maneuvered ourselves to try and free the half-born bovine. And any thoughts of my future laundry challenges went right out the window.
...
After several minutes of contorting ourselves, we finally felt something give. Whoosh. Slithering and sliding into our arms and down onto the ground: one slick, slimy, dark red... bull calf. We grinned at each other in the silence. I felt like doing some high kicks, Las Vegas style. I may have actually attempted this (can't/don't want to recall!). I let the cow out of the crush and round to her baby, who Mr I had quickly dragged out from the crush and into the adjacent yard. For a few seconds she ignored him. Then instinct kicked in and she approached, sniffed and then finally, began licking the birth sac from his wet hide.
We quickly evacuated the yard to let her do her job in peace and watched on for a few minutes in awe. Something that happens all the time out here - baby calves arriving, their mamas cleaning their coats and stimulating their little bodies into action. But we were a part of this one. And the feeling was incredible.
...
I plan to shut up now, and let the photos to the talking.
(Please know I did wash my hands before grabbing the Nikon)
Introducing Little Red and his mother, Big Bawly.
As you can see, it wasn't all smooth sailing.
Little Red tried to stand up within a couple of minutes of his arrival, crashing back into the dirt as each unsteady effort failed. He even slid under the fence and into the next yard at one point. But the two eventually got their act together, he got his pins under him and staggered into position. And the First Breakfast was had.
*Sigh*
...
Now if anyone has any laundry hints for getting afterbirth from white t-shirts, I'm all ears!
And just to help you visualise what I am dealing with:
Sorry.
(Hey, I did put a star on her girl bits to save some embarrassment!)
She wasn't entirely sure what it was all about...
Winter has arrived at Granite Glen.
