Up until this week, he had twelve head of cattle. Every
night the Farmer would go out and count heads, making sure no one was missing
in action. Then, last month on Friday, February 13th, number thirteen
was born. Unfortunately, the number wasn’t lucky for him. He was a very big
calf and we suspect he died in the birth canal. The mama, Gina (thus named for
the big curl on her head that makes her look like Gina Lollobrigida) was
released from the barn to rejoin the herd. The other cows didn’t treat her very
well for a day or two. Maybe she smelled different to them. In any case, a
month later, she is still trying to fit in but I often see her off by herself. There
seems to be some shunning going on.
This week we had another Friday the 13th and, one
month to the day, another calf was born. It isn’t normal for us to have a gap
of a month between calf births. We were certain the other calves would come in
succession after the first one (the Farmer says the first birth in the season is
always a disaster – it rang true with our sheep as well). We left instructions
for our farm-sitter when we went on vacation and every day I texted him from
the beach: “How many head of cattle?”
And his reply: “Still only 12.”
It was a relief, because I would hate for his first farming
experience to be traumatic, with too-big calves being stuck during birth and
having to be pulled out against their will to enter the -35 degree Canadian
winter.
So on the morning of March 14th the horse was
acting strange. She was running up and down the field, snorting and tossing her
mane. Then the Farmer pointed out the new calf. That was what Misty was trying
to tell us. Mocha had given birth some time during the night, and her calf was
up and nursing, springing around and loving life.
After an introductory photo and video session I noticed the
other cows were not being very friendly to the little bull calf. He would get
confused and try to nurse on someone who wasn’t his mother and they would
respond most rudely with a sharp kick to his side. I talked the Farmer into
putting a rope around the calf and hop-stepping him to the stable, where he and
his mother could bond for a few days.
I’ll admit, this may not have been the best idea. Normally
we bring the new cows (or the ones in labour, if we can get them on time) into
the barn to bond with their babies. But the stable was closer and easier to
access. Misty, the usual occupant of the stable, was not at all impressed with
the development. There are plenty of other spots in the barn for her to find
shelter, so that wasn’t the issue. But her sweet feed is in the stable. And she
was absolutely sure that cow and her calf were in there, eating it. She could
smell it. (I admit I did give Mocha a scoop of molasses corn-candy for good
behaviour).
Misty did some more moaning and complaining outside the
stable and when nothing came of it, she decided to put the run on the other
cows. The Farmer and I were in the barn with the second cow to go into labour
when we heard the stampede. It was quite a dangerous situation, with the
1800-lb. horse chasing the pregnant, uncoordinated cows over icy patches of
unlevel ground, where they could easily slip or trip, breaking a leg or
miscarrying. I went out to confront Misty.
We had an exchange of sorts. I yelled NO, smacked my leather
mitts together and stomped my feet and she just stared at me, giving repeated
snorts and tossing her mane. She also stomped her foot at one point. Talk about
a hissy fit.
I know she understood me. Every time I go to the barnyard
she follows close on my heels, as if pleading her case. But she stopped chasing
the cows. I will not be manipulated by a horse. And she’s not getting back into
her stable until Mocha is finished with it, in another day or two.
No comments:
Post a Comment