Keeping up with the theme this week of struggle is real, here’s the farm edition.
I wasn’t going to share these stories, not because I’m ashamed of them. Simply because I don’t love rehashing them. However, after a chat with my life coach (my former FFA advisor), I’m reconsidering.
We have a cow/calf operation and row crops. (Along with a few chickens on the side for eggs). I grew up on a similar operation. I’ve been around cows since before I could walk. I’ve seen just about everything with cattle. My mom was primarily responsible for calving all the cows. I don’t think it was that my dad wouldn’t do it, more of a she wanted things done a certain way. As I get older, I can get on board with my mom. It’s easier to do it myself and my way when it comes to calving the cows I’m in charge of. (Matt does help me anytime I ask and when I need it, but I’m getting a lot more independent than when we were first married about calving cows).
Anyway, we’re still calving our second herd. Check out all the details of what I mean by our second herd here. We’re wrapping it up with just the stragglers left. By this time in the season, you hope you’ve been through the worst and are now coasting to the next herd.
Early in the week, I found a calf in the bottom of a ditch that the mom couldn’t get out. After I had got him out, the mom started working with him so I left them in peace. I came back a couple of hours later and baby hadn’t nursed. I took them to the pen where I got the baby eating. It started pouring while I was doing that which didn’t help this situation. After a couple days of trying to get the cow to take care of the calf and get the baby stronger, I decided to pull the baby off to take to a shed to get it going strong because it wasn’t going to make it in the pasture. We put in a lot of hours, gave baby vitamins and the best we could. The baby died. I’ve been through a lot of dead calves. Every one I cry. Every one I blame myself and wonder what I could have done differently and better to save the baby. Every single time.
Next, I went to the pasture and saw a cow that had calved, but I couldn’t find her baby. Finally, I got her to go to where the baby was. I don’t know how it happened, but this baby was in a ditch no wider than the baby, about 5-6 foot deep with tree limbs and roots growing and a brush pile there. Matt came and it was all we could do together to pull the baby out. We fed the baby and spent a lot of time and did everything we could think of and more to take care of this baby. The baby died. I’ve been through a lot of dead calves. Every one I cry. Every one I blame myself and wonder what I could have done differently and better to save the baby. Every single time.
Last story, I found a new baby in the pasture one morning, but momma hadn’t fed baby. She was clearly fond of baby and had cleaned baby off so I couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t fed the baby. Upon further inspection this baby’s front legs are crooked and need some therapy. This sometimes happen because they run out of room in the womb. So bring this baby up close to the house where mom can come in with her. Try my hardest to get the baby to eat. Will not eat. Matt has been feeding it with a feeding tube to keep her alive. I’m hopeful that she is building up strength and one of these days she’ll nurse a bottle and eventually her mom. Time will tell.
We spend hours with these cattle. We spend hours doing everything we can to save these babies. We spend hundreds and thousands of dollars on medicine, but also on preventative measures like good feed and mineral. We invest time and money, but it’s so much of an emotional investment too. Each one you put your heart and soul into. Each one you put aside your comfort to make the baby comfortable. And sometimes it works and they get better! And sometimes they don’t. And every one I cry. Every one I blame myself and wonder what I could have done differently and better to save the baby. Every single time.
This week has been hard. Our marriage has taken a hit because of all these things happening on the farm. It’s so intimately interconnected, the farm and our marriage. We don’t get off at 5 and go home and forget work. We don’t look at the clock when there is a baby that is struggling to survive. We do what we can to help.
We are instructed to care for the animals to the best of our abilities. We do that. The other day we had a neighbor helping with the cattle. Matt and I were talking about a cow that didn’t have a tag and he asked how we knew what number she was if she didn’t have a tag (the number is on the tag that goes in the ear). I have practically lived with these cattle for the last two months while they were calving. For 60-75 days I have seen them at least twice a day. I have tagged their babies, I know the mean ones, I know the nice ones. I know the ones that hide their babies from me. I know the ones that have bad bags. I know the ones that were home raised. I know the ones we bought. Before they started calving, we fed them every single day through the winter. The summer before, I checked them off a pasture list at least once a week and saw them at least twice a week. I’ve been married into the Pagel operation working on year six. If you ask me a number of a tag, I will with 99% accuracy tell you what color she is, whether she is a pet or keeps her distance and probably another interesting story about her. I see these girls more than I see my friends. Each time something happens to one of them or their babies, it is not just a random cow. It is Droopy or Keep Me or 213 or Black Shrek (not to be confused with Red Shrek) or 8154. Each is personal. Each time we do everything we can. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
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