Brighter Days

Friday, January 11, was another sad morning on the farm. As you recall, our "midget" cow Jill has had a hard life for a cow. She fell into a spring of freezing water in 15 degree weather just hours after being born and was orphaned seven months from that day. Not only did she lose her mama, Georgia, but also was shunned by the other cows from that day forward. For some reason, the other cows have been incessant bullies to her, disallowing her to eat hay with them and of course never any grain. I took it upon myself to care for Jill in special ways. She is always allowed to dine separately in the barn, with lots of grooming and tender-loving-care while nibbling on her grain. She was so timid of Danny and me, perhaps because of the times during her fragile first week of life when we would kidnap her from the pasture and take her to the warm, cozy barnstall on the four-wheeler. However, she has come around and is like a pet to me. She is my only "mooer", and it's such a cute, weak moo. I can call and she will respond with her little bellow. Danny and I are not certain if she realizes the hard knocks of life she's been dealt, but we do, and with our soft hearts, we have a special place for our little Jilly.


I recall during the summer making the statement that Jill would bring a calf before our prize cow Daisy. Daisy is Caroline's, and has nursed for about the two years of her life. She has overgrown her mama and is so gentle, but Danny thought she would calve first with her maturity. In December, I started to notice that Jill's rearend was beginning to bulge and swell, and so was her milk bag. It took about four weeks for her to deliver from this point, with her rump swelling more each day. We had many bitter cold nights during that period of time so Danny and I locked Jill in the barn so she could have a warm place in case she went into labor. With her small size, we fretted that she would have difficulty delivering a calf.


January 10 was a warm night for us, in the 40s. We decided, unaware of the torrential downpours of rain that lied ahead, to leave her out for she was pretty restless in the barn on nights that weren't so cold. At sometime during the early morn, Jill delivered a big, healthy bull calf...with no problems! She did not go to the top of the mountain as Caroline does, but decided to have the calf in the safety of the barnyard. Her plan backfired. Somehow, her pretty newborn got through the fence and across the road in a completely different pasture! Unfortunately, Jill could not get to her little one and the rainfall took its toll on the calf. Jill was so distressed when I came to the barn that morning, knowing that she couldn't figure out how to get across the road.


I could tell things were not right while walking to the barn and hearing Jill mooing more than usual, but the main clue was our dog Jebo. Passing by a window getting dressed to feed, I had noticed Jebo in the lower pasture sitting very alert by something of which I could not discern. Once Jebo saw me and the other dogs, who were lounging on the porch, coming to the barn, he started barking and doing circles to get my attention. He would not let any other dogs come into the pasture. The closer I got, the bigger the knot in my stomach got. I suddenly realized what the brown lump was Jebo was guarding so fiercely.


I ran down to the calf and saw that he was still alive! Hope! I fell to my knees to check him over for wounds, seeing a few scratches but nothing major. Then I asked aloud, "Why does this keep happening to us?" I scooped the calf, about 70 pounds, and ran him to the barn. With the rain, the mud was horrible. I changed into my rubber boots because I had to wrangle Jill into the barn to see if the two could reunite. She was NOT wanting to go into the barn, but with much persistence, in the mud almost up to my knees, I got her in. Jebo was still in guard-mode, not letting any other dog into the barn. He was such an angel, licking the calf and cleaning him, and thus helping me get Jill interested in her calf.

Although Jill tried to revive the calf and encourage him to stand, he simply did not have the energy. I decided I should try to nurse him with a bottle and some calf starter I had on hand. I could get him to suck only a little, wary of the thought that I would have to continue this provision of nourishment if the calf survived, but still hoping Jill's baby would live. This ordeal began promptly at 8:00am. I dried the calf with towels, rubbed him continuously with my hands, positioned myself around him on the hay with Jebo cuddling on the other side, and tried to get him to take the nipple of the bottle. By 12:30, the calf took his last breath. It was amazing to see how his eyes were drawn to his mama, how he let out a big "moo" to her minutes before his passing. I felt privileged to be a witness to this act of nature while simultaneously bitter because it was yet another loss for Arnold Acres. The sting of the loss hurt worse because of my soft-spot for Jill and the longing for her to feel loved and needed.

I think I took the loss harder than Jill, perhaps because she is a cow. But I felt that I had failed her, that it was my sense of duty to protect both her and her newborn. I looked at the positive outcomes of the situation - that Jill was able to have a normal sized calf without difficulty, and that our bull produced normal cows. Remember, the last calf born by RedRock was a grossly abnormal stillborn while Jill's calf was a beautiful, normal bull. Jill hung out in the spot that she gave birth for a day or two, and eventually moved on, acting as if nothing ever happened. On the other hand, Danny and I loathed the fact that the little calf we should've seen running around the barnyard was buried up on the hill.

As usual, we regrouped from our loss and about four weeks later, on Monday, February 20, a little calf was finally born alive and well on Arnold Acres! Caroline, whom I had noticed was filling with milk and swelling in the back, gave birth to a heifer. When Caroline and Jill did not come to the barn for their morning rations, I suspected something was up. I hiked to the place where Caroline had Daisy, for I had seen Jill coming down a trail the cows usually did not travel upon. Sure enough, a little heifer was nursing away on Caroline. Remembering Caroline's protective sense of her newborns, I respectfully returned to the barn to finish feeding the horses. To Danny's dismay, I have been compelled to call the calf "Hillary"; I found it appropriate to call the little cow by that name since she was born on President's Day and we historically have our first female (heifer) vying for President in the 2008 election! Meanwhile, Danny's brother, Peter, who had visited for the weekend and unfortunately had lost his kids' yellow lab puppy that he had brought with him, was at the house making calls regarding the missing dog. I did not want to show the extreme joy I felt for finally having a success on the farm in respect of his despair, so I quietly made calls to Danny and my parents in our bedroom, but boy was I excited! Sadly Peter's dog was not found on Monday, but after alerting the neighborhood, the pup was returned to us on Tuesday morning by one of our friends. Two exciting and happy stories for Arnold Acres, a sign of brighter days!

By the way, back on July 31, the morning after a full moon, I walked into the barn a bit early to feed, around 7am. To my astonishment, there was a pig lying in the barn! I thought someone had played a practical joke, but after assessing the situation, I realized the pig was badly wounded. I concluded it had to be a mountain lion, for the right side of the pig was skinned. On his other side, he had parallel scratch marks about the depth of a 1/4 inch, leading me to believe it was a cat-like creature inflicting the wounds. I wrapped the injured animal in a towel to keep flies off. Miracously, the pig was not bleeding and drank water that I provided. The horses would not even enter the barn that morning, either smelling the pig or being spooked from its predator. I called Danny to tell him of my discovery and Big Dave overheard Danny's exclamation about a pig in the barn. Big Dave was aware that our neighbors' son on Elk River had lost a pig the day before, the same day that Danny's cousins who were visiting the family farm had casually mentioned sighting a pig swimming down the river. Somehow, this pig traveled the opposite direction, was severely attacked by a wild animal, and ended up in our barn. After learning the owners of the pig, I contacted them and the mother of the boy came to help me retrieve the pig. Five and one-half hours from the discovery, we had cornered the pig and I secured him in a bucket for his journey back home. Good riddance! I did NOT want to doctor this smelly creature. The ironic turn to this story is that Peter's puppy chose this family to come to at 4am on Tuesday morning! The father stated he heard the puppy crying on the porch early in the morning and from talking to us, identified it as the puppy we had lost. I guess "one good deed does deserve another"!