I wonder, though, if the babies miss me? While I have been in here, lamenting a life off the farm, sinking into depression, whining about my lot in life, and generally being an emotional pest (let’s blame it on Nature, shall we?), did the bottle babies, Pip and Rowdy, or even Brahma Mama miss me?

I might answer that question this afternoon, if it warms up enough to melt off this dusting of snow we got two nights ago. Not that the snow concerns me, only, I’m thinking that if it is warm enough to melt it on the ground, I won’t freeze my you-know-what off. I think I already know the answer for Pip and Rowdy. Rowdy misses me to the extent he misses anyone that comes in that might bring food with them. He has a sort of “sure I missed you, whatever you say, what did you bring me?” attitude towards life. Pip missed me flat-out, no lie. That little calf LOVES me, loves his lead, loves our adventures, and loves that I know just the right place to scratch behind his left ear to almost put him to sleep.

Mike asked me recently if I wanted to turn Pip into a steer. It is supposed to make the animals more docile, help them to grow faster, and keep them from wandering to females in heat wherever they might be. Yeah, so I can see the advantage. But to my mind, turning him into a steer also means he will never be a breeder and if he is not a breeder, he is steak on the hoof. I guess I still am not ready to face that little fact straight on. If he was a mean calf, a bully calf, one that was so ugly even his mother didn’t want him, or even blind to the point where he could not function without constant attention, I might be able to face the fact the cattle are raised here for meat. Nuh-uh! Pip is a breeder and will remain so, if I have anything to say about it. Yes, he has become my pet.

I let Pip out of his pen a few days back when the weather was so warm. Brahma Mama and the Painted Ladies were grazing on the hay bale behind their pen and were enjoying basking in the sun. I though he would like it too. He did! But he was lonely in his own yard…he wanted in the pasture with them, or for Rowdy to come out and play, or for me to run Amuck, Amuck with him. His pitiful little moo said it all.

So I decided to let the little bull in with the females and see what would happen. Maybe he was big enough to mix with a real herd now. How to get him into their pasture was another story. His ‘yard’ has an electric fence around it to prevent the bigger cows from getting into his pen. Their pasture forms a sort of horseshoe shape around it. I could not turn off the electric to his pen without turning it off on theirs and running the risk of a huge Brahma cow and three 600 lb Holstein heifers running off.

Meeeewwwww! I hear Pip’s pitiful moo again.

Hmm…maybe I can put him on the lead, take him through the gate to Brahma’s stall and let him out the door to girls’ pasture. What if I come face to face with Brahma? Now, face to face isn’t exactly a correct way to put that. Brahma, standing flat-footed, towers above all 5 ft. 4 inches of me. I dare say, she probably is the first to know if I need a root touch-up.  Her head is half the length of my body, almost. And, well, to put it bluntly, I don’t think Brahma likes me. She constantly watches me, allows me to pet her then snorts and throws my hand away with her head and always stands between me and the Painted Ladies. I tried to feed her one day and she shoved her head into the feed bucket so hard I dropped the bucket, left the stall and did not retrieve it until she decided to meander outside. Yeah, I am afraid of the bitch! So, how do I get Pip through there and what do I do if she decides she doesn’t like the little guy in her stall?

It was so beautiful out. The brilliant blue sky seemed higher than usual since the clouds vacated. The sun cast a warm yellow halo, it seemed, on everything. And meeewwwww, I heard pitiful Pip call again.

That was it. I made up my mind. Brahma or not, my pet was going to play in the sunshine with the other cattle!

I grabbed the lead, negotiated around poor blind Belle (who is afraid of everything and kicks at anything), passed by Rowdy who had his head in a bowl of feed, as usual, and out the stall door to Pip’s ‘yard’. Holding it high, I called to him “Pip! You wanna go for a walk?”

Pip made a dash for me and for a moment, I worried about a charging 200 pound bull and was thankful he was not 1200 pounds. Then he stopped on a dime in front of me, sliding a few inches closer.  He sniffed the lead and dropped his head for me to clip the lead around his neck, look over towards the females and I swear, at that moment, he smiled a “nah-nah” at the four of them, who watched in fascination.

Quickly, I shut Brahma’s door, locking her and the girls out of their ‘room’ and led Pip through his door, past Belle who kicked at us, and beyond Rowdy who looked up once, licked his lips and went back to eating. Haw, Pip! and down the ‘hall’ we went to Brahma’s huge stall. There Pip stopped and refused to follow voice command. He even began to fight the lead. I don’t know why…perhaps it was scary being in the larger stall, perhaps he wanted to explore the different smells in the place, or perhaps he too worried whether Brahma lurked nearby. I unclipped the lead, he kicked up his heels and began to run back and forth in the stall. I think he thought it was his new ‘bedroom’. Wrong.

While Pip enjoyed this moment, I carefully opened the stall door. The nearly black Painted Lady Number Three charged in and began to chase the young bull, who panicked, kicked over their water bucket and tried to jump the gate. I ran as fast as my little gingerbread legs could carry me back to where Pip had been, figuring I could call him from there and he would at least have room to run away from PL3 if he was outside the building. I called. No response.

Brahma stopped eating from the huge roll of hay in  her yard, at that  moment. She calmly walked towards the building, and blasted a bellow. PL3 immediately stopped harassing Pip and ran out of the shed and Pip emerged from the building to greet Brahma with a nose-to-nose ‘thank you’. Brahma then went back to her hay bale and Pip discovered the huge ‘yard’ he now occupied!

Round and round the little bull ran, stopping short of the fenceline each time. Galloping at full speed, he would slam on the brakes, turn and pour on the steam again. At one point, he stopped long enough to greet PL2, the mostly white Holstein, spar with her with a little head bump and both the animals kicked up their heels and ran the distance. It delighted me so that I found myself giggling almost uncontrollably…and Brahma…she calmly kept eating, looked up occasionally to be sure all was well, and went back to munching down.

After a few minutes, I realized that everything would be fine and I could leave Pip unsupervised by a human. Clearly, Brahma was a good baby sitter. I walked back towards the shed, not realizing I still held the blue lead in my hand. Brahma, seeing me move, ran to the fence nearest me. Uh-oh, she’s at it again!

I spoke gently to the giant cow, and prayed she would not discover that the only thing between her and I was a small electrically charged ribbon. She put her head out, as if to ask for a petting, but as I reached to do so, she suddenly turned towards the lead in my other hand. I held it up for her to smell. Obviously, there was something in that blue snake-thing that the little calf liked. I think she wondered if it was edible.

Discovering it wasn’t, she nonchalantly returned to her hay bale. But she and I had reached an understanding. We are both protectors. We are both mothers. And we are both curious about the other’s ways. We both remain leery of one another too, but after that day, Brahma lets me pet her and even scratch that special place behind her left ear that almost puts her to sleep too.

Pip asked to go back into his own pen later that day and went, without the lead, straight to the warm snuggle of his straw bed, closed his eyes and took a nap. It was an eventful day for all of us, to be sure. But he missed his own place and its familiar surroundings. I am convinced he misses me too.

Pip in October 2011

The weather turned off cold yesterday afternoon and although it is still spitting snowflakes, we only got a dusting of the white stuff. Temperatures in the teens and a good wind make things feel a lot colder than they look, but the calves are all snug in their little shed with heat lamps shining down on them. Mike said this morning (I did not go out) they got up to eat, tired of waiting and were cold, so they just laid back down and cuddled beneath the light.

We are in the process of weaning the oldest of the little babies. Boo, Runner and Cocoa have their rations cut for milk and more feed and hay. While the dry food is disappearing, their appetities for milk have not and they are the first to make a dash for the nipple buckets in the morning. Someone has shown an interest in Runner (we think he is a gurnsey cross) and plans to come out in the next few days to check him out further. That is the nice thing about selling the little ones. Little worry they will be freezer stock, at least for several more months.

We decided to try and sell our three black heifers and Rhino as a package deal. Big Mama is one of the and she may be pregnant by Rhino right now. We have not had her checked for that, but will if the new buyer requires it, I suppose. Since I don’t know much about cattle, I hesitate to make any assumptions, but she looks vigourous and healthy with good wide pelvic bones (are they called that on a heifer?) and a long body. My gut says that if she is pregnant, she will have no problem delivering. I would be more concerned about Woolie, another of the group, who is short stock, short backed, and generally smaller. I think she would mate better with a bull the size of Sam the Charolais. But, what do I know…I’m a city girl!

We have been waiting a few weeks now for word on the next “batch” of bottle babies to bring ‘home.’ Part of me wants to wait longer, so they don’t have to be transported during the cold weather, but another part of me can’t wait for the new arrivals. I am also hoping they are not Holsteins, since our luck has not been good with that breed. I don’t know whether it is the farmer not giving them the colostrum he claims, or just bad luck, but of the bottle babies, only Lil survives right now…and she is sick. Mike has had to tube her to get her milk into her for two days now.

It hurts both financially and emotionally to put so much effort into a little calf only for them to die anyway. I hope it is not the colostrum issue. If it is, my redneck training just might kick in! There is no excuse to without the only means for a calf to ‘grow’ an immune system just because you have culled him from your herd! To sell one like that, claiming they have had it, is downright fraudulent!

So, here is a word of warning for other newbies out there like me. Beware, there are crooks in the cattle industry just like everywhere. Trust those you know, verify those you don’t, and trust your basic instincts.

Off to clean house for awhile. We will talk again soon. Oh, and Happy Friday the Thirteenth!

(I am thinking it is a wonderful idea, if you have friends that farm, to “gift” them with livestock, seeds, or even a small ‘credit’ at their local feed and supply store.)

But my list of things to do has not been shortened recently. I seem to suffer from the ‘Blue Funks’ lately and want to play Susie Homemaker rather than farmer’s wife. Don’t get me wrong, I love the little calves and the nature that surrounds us, but there are days (or weeks) where I want to reorganize cabinets, paint a room, pack away summer clothes, bake or generally play the role of a good 1950s housewife. December was that way for me and I installed new cabinets, reorganized cabinets, restocked the cabinets,  and generally goofed off. Now, I am behind, not only on this blog, but with daily tasks set to the side in favor of ‘cabineting’: the house now looks like a tornado would actually be an improvement, my thesis is at a standstill, the Christmas decorations that have been taken down are not put away.  I have thousands of school books (well, hundreds maybe) to be sold, donated, or trashed. They overflow the bookshelves in the living room. I am seeing cobwebs drape the 18 ft ceilings since I have not brought in a ladder by which to reach them with the broom. The calves have not been trained to the lead, the dogs feel neglected on their outdoor run and play time, and the cats…well, they are cats, they really don’t care about anything so long as they are warm, have a full stomach and a comfortable place to sleep most of the day. I have furniture to rearrange and clean around, pots and pans to give away, laundry stacked on the washer and hanging to air dry in the bathroom and a whole lot of spring cleaning to do.

I do not want to do any of it.

I think I am feeling rebellious right now. I mean, how else can I explain a preference for Sudoku over sweeping, Words with Friends over washing clothes, or Word Welder over working?

Mike just keeps chugging along at his chores like the Little Engine That Could, but I find myself resenting them all the time. I want to go to an art gallery, visit a museum, explore one of Kentucky’s amazing historical sites, go out to dinner…. I love this place, this life, but I miss humanity! I miss lazily sleeping in on a Saturday morning and waking to coffee in bed, the newspaper, and Saturday morning cartoons. There are times, especially recently, when I feel like everything is work and, quite frankly, I do not have the stamina to perform it. It is frustrating to me, knowing that I physically can not do all that needs to be done around here and it is embarrassing to me that (particularly in the house) it has not been done.

This may sound like I am whining, and maybe I am, after all, I wrote about this before. But they are very real feelings I suspect other farm wives feel too. Or maybe not. But like other working women around the country, our job is not finished at the end of a hard-won day. There is still the family and home upkeep to perform. Mike is terrific at helping around the house, as many husbands are, but I am wondering if it is just my generation that still views the home as ‘womens work’ and our unpaid moonlighting job. On the farm, to me anyway, it is worse than when I was a city girl who worked her 8-5 job, ran a couple of chores, cooked dinner and settled in for an evening of television with the family. Back then, it was weekends off for grocery shopping or hanging out at the mall, family time at church, dinner or a card game with friends.Weekends were a special, relaxing, downtime…a reward for hard work.

There does not seem to be any reward for hard work on the farm, unless you have some sadistic appreciation for more hard work as a reward for the hard work you completed. And it is lonely on the farm. I miss the company of other women. That is something I do not think Mike can understand. I mean, if he is working and needs something, he pops over to the store or a neighbor and chit-chats with some male friend while he accomplishes his goal. His friends will pop over now and then with fresh-caught game, to bring him nuts to grow as seedlings, or will call for him to join them as they cut firewood. I have no such association with other women and I think it would really help me to talk with another farm wife (one with a clean house) that can tell me how she organizers her day to get everything done and still manages to have time for herself and her hobbies.

As it is, on days I’m not being stubborn and lazy, my schedule is full and often after a night of sleep, broken up by feeding the fire, running the cats out of the trash, scaring raccoons of the porch or other sundry events, I start my day already exhausted.

If I am lucky, I rise at 7am. As my feet hit the floor, my bladder reminds me of the first order of business…let the big dog out. As he does his thing, I do mine, then it is time to fill the pets water bowls, water the indoor plants, put a log on the fire, and fill the coffee maker. I measure out the coffee and put out dry food for the cats and then the dogs as the coffee brews. That is my first five minutes up! No exerise, stretching or yoga for me. Then it is time to put away last night’s dishes that I left drying in the drainer. I fill my coffee cup, call Mike down with a “Hey Mike, it’s morning!” and settle in with an “Ahhhh” for my first cup, while checking email, Facebook, and Craigslist. It is now about 7:30am.

Now, I am not going to bore you with my daily schedule any further than that, because I think you get the picture. At some point I still need to shower, dress, wash and fill milk bottles, feed the calves (takes an hour and a half), eat breakfast (or is it brunch, or is it really just LUNCH) and start some laundry, work on my thesis and if I am really energic, I might consider picking up the living room, sweeping and mopping, scouring the bathroom, changing the sheets, planning tonights dinner, paying bills,…..oh, but it all has be be done before the next feeding at 3:30-4. Problem is…I am NEVER that energetic.

I keep blaming myself for my failures. Why aren’t I more organized to get this stuff done? How can I get more energy to do it all? How do other people manage? Why can’t we hire a maid?! When can I squeeze in some time to get my hair re-dyed and cover these roots or get a manicure, wash my sports car, or get out an meet people/volunteer?

And here I sit.

I  think I’ll have another cup of coffee and a game of Sudoku.

Bruno in June 2011. He was about 1200 lbs when sold as a breeder.

We have had a lot of interest in our bottle calves, as well. Especially so for those we really do not intend to sell yet. Little Boo (Wa-debu) and Cocoa, being large for their ages have brought several interested people out, as I am sure one of our newest arrivals, who outsized them at just one week of age, will do. The nursery is fairly full right now, with a dozen Holstein, Jersey, Guernsey, Angus, Saler, Gelbvieh and other crosses in colors that range from champagne to coal black.

I noticed yesterday that Brahma Mama has dried up since losing her calf last month. We want to have her bred, but cow pregnancies are a whole new classroom subject for us to learn. Meanwhile, she keeps the “Painted Ladies” (the Frick and Frack traded Holsteins) in line, particularly if she thinks they might eat “her” food. She has slimmed down a bit, but still a huge cow. To give you an idea, from her poll to her muzzle (top of her head to the tip of her nose) she measures about 25 inches…yeah, that is just her head! We are keeping her in the shed with the babies, where she arrived with her own calf, because she seems so comfortable in the surroundings. Of course, she also has access to the great outdoors and has nearly a whole hay roll to herself, not to mention her feed, and whatever soybeans she can glean from what will be her pasture next year. She seems to love looking out the window of the shed or standing at the end of her “yard” closest to the house to watch us as we go about our daily activities. Makes you sort of wonder who is the “pet” and who is the master.

Fritz, our little Patterdale terrier, decided a couple of weeks ago that he must see the “baby cows” before he goes to bed for the night and it has become his ritual. Each night before bed, he and Mike make a trip out to the calf shed and Mike puts the dog’s leash end on a nail while he does cattle chores. Fritz is often so excited to go, he literally pulls Mike along behind him as he bounds for the shed. Eddie, the Belgian shepherd is a difficult-sell on the issue. At first, he loved going to the shed after dark.One day, however, he decided to “sneak” around the back of the shed and come out the other side to surprise Mike. Oops! He found the electric fence instead. With a loud YELP! he ran back to the house and wanted back in the house NOW! He hasn’t gone to the shed after dark since. Not even with coaxing and treats.

So, Eddie is our Brahma Mama-dog. Like the cow, he is huge, goofy, and oversized with a head the size of a pumpkin. Even his coloring is like hers. But while Brahma watches the world with what appears to be pleased amusement, Doofus (as Eddie is often called) runs through life stomping on flowers, small children, and smaller dogs in an effort to find love, fun, and happiness.  He is a total klutz and while I am not quite sure which style is ‘right,’ each of the animals seems to eventually find contentment in their own unique way.

I am thinking there is a lesson there. Whether we grow with the sole purpose of procreation, like Frick and Frack, or whether we become nurturers content with watching the world more than participating in it, or whether we bound through life clumsily stomping on everything in our exhuberance, as cow, as dog or as human, our time is short. The choices we make about how we approach life determine our own joy in living it. Observers cannot understand bumblers any more than the ultra-religious can understand partiers…yet somehow both types seek their own contentment within the process of living. Brahma’s electric fence gives her a sense of safety, but terrifies Eddie. Eddie’s sense of freedom would terrify Brahma. It seems to me, however, that both styles are equally valid for humans. Which brings up two questions: Can we legislate for “safety” without losing our freedom? And should we?

They are questions we face today in far more significant ways than we have faced in this country in the past. I wonder if we are up to trying to answer them.

Frack in June 2011. By December he almost doubled his weight. Frick was identical.

I woke up this morning with just of hint of new daylight streaming through the window and the sound of a flock of Canada geese honking as they flew overhead. Outside, the grass was nearly white from the heavy frost and the trees now devoid of their leaves contrasted the brightness of the rising sun. There is not a cloud in the sky. This is the typical Kentucky winter morning. It is not that we do not get snow, we get plenty, but if it is a cloudy day in winter, it is likely to be a bit warmer, if not sloppier, than the sunny day it follows.

It is a fine day for the chores we need to do today. We took delivery yesterday of three large Holstein heifers in exchange for a couple of Jersey bulls that a local farmer intends to use to “freshen” his herd of dairy cows. They look to be in good health and we kept them separated from the others last night, but today they need a place of their own where they can stretch their legs too. Mike and I will go over later with the tractor so he can load a wagon with some round bales to bring over for the ladies, as well as Brahma Mama and Pip. We want to check that herd too. One of them got out last night and we had to put her in her pen before we went to bed.

We had some interest in the purchase of several of our smaller calves this past week  and even an offer to trade a bottle baby for a colt. I might have made the trade if the colt was not nearly two and never ridden. But since I do not know how to ride and, indeed, am fearful of horses, I do not think it would be a good trade for us. He needs someone that can break him to ride, not just to his lead. He is beautiful, though, a cremello that would be a good stud. I’ll ask around to some of the horse farms close by and see if there is an interest there. I doubt it.

Boo seems to bring the most interest right now, because he is a black angus. Well, he might even be a Brangus (Brahma and Angus). I find it rather funny that people are all about “Ooooo, Angus!” like the color of their coat somehow makes a difference in the taste of the meat. Ah well, we will play along and for our “keeper” herd, will concentrate on solid color cattle like the Angus and Charolais. If you remember, Sam and Diane, my first calves, are both Charolais and in my own weird sense of humor I named them for the television news correspondents I used to watch every night. They stuck out in the crowd of black calves, mingled among them, then found their own special places on the fringe of the herd.

Like the other solid colored calves, there is also good interest in Big Un, a new arrival, and Coco, his look alike. Both appear to be solid red Simmentals. Time will tell for certain, but they are beautiful in their coat color, have long bodies, good muscle, bright eyes, and are huge for their age. Big Un is now about six days old and easily the size of Boo the Angus, who is now a month old. Both BigUn and Coco keep hearty appetites too. So much so, that I have wondered if they shouldn’t be given a touch more milk than the smaller calves. I will have to look that up.

Some of the newer babies are nearly ready for weaning too. Runner, for example, the one that escaped the electric fence the other day and ended up in the pasture with Brahma Mama, eats hays with Brahma on a daily basis, munches on his bedding, and loves the sweet feed we keep handy for the babies in their stalls. Once the Holstein ladies are in their own place, it may be time to move him and a couple of others to “school” where they can be weaned and lead-trained.

Speaking of lead-trained. I noticed Pip is “lead training” Belle, the blind Holstein in their stall. He directs her where he wants her, keeps her “safe” from Mike when he is in the stall, and shows her the food. She is a smart heiffer too! She is not lead trained, but certainly understands the voice commands of Gee, Haw, and Giddup. I think she likes being directed instead of circling round and round trying to figure out where walls and animals and feed troughs are.

So…I’m off now, sorry to cut this short, but it is feeding time. It now takes about 1-1/2 hours to feed the babies in the morning, not counting mucking out stalls, giving medications if needed, and other miscellaneous duties. Cuts into house cleaning time, too…ah…I…am…so…sad about that. Ha!

The thing is…the value of those trees would have provided us with funding for a tremendous herd, but WE DID NOT WANT THEM CUT DOWN!

Because of the kid’s history, our suspicion that he has also been responsible for copper and equipment thefts in the area, we will be pressing charges. Sadly, a conviction will probably do little good. He comes from a family that blames his behavior on drugs, but refuses to see that in his entire life he has never had to face the consequences of his own actions. Someone in his family always bailed him out and enabled him to go through life thinking that he was a special exception to the law. I do not believe it is too harsh to wish that he would personally have to haul newly cut stones, by hand, to rebuild the wall he destroyed; nor is it too harsh to require him to trim the branches and limbs he left into useable firewood for our fireplace (14″ or less) and haul and stack it by hand. And these should be in addition to restitution for the loss, a verbal apology to all the landowners he stole from, and time in jail to ‘dry out’ from his drug usage. In no way should his family be allowed to pay bail, pay the restitution, arrange for or negotiate his punishment or other such things as they have in the past when they sent a message to the kid, “do whatever you want, we’ll fix it for you.”

Happy babies with full tummies

On a lighter note, Mike and I made a run with our buyer to a large local cattle dealer and it was quite an education for me. I was told the man deals with thousands of cows on his place, and would not doubt that for the world. His farm was perhaps thousands of acres and I do not believe there was one blade of grass on the property. No kidding. There were cows of all sizes and colors, fences galore, hay racks, even equipment and animal sheds but everywhere one looked a bumpy goulash of muddy ooze stood where a lawn once grew. I was a bit distressed and put off by the glaring discrepancy between ‘happy cows’ on most of the farms I see and this place. I mean no real disparagement. His cattle are healthy, thriving, and well cared for. It’s just that his farm due to his ‘success’ flies in the face of every reason most people have for wanting to live in the country. Imagine, no grass, no trees, the incredible “ick” from thousands of cows, driveways of ooze, and landscaping (?)–forget about it!

Still, he appears to be one of our best bets for gaining large numbers of newborn bottle-fed calves for our own operation. I just hope that as we gear up and increase the herd, we do not have to give up what attracts us to this place to begin with.

Update: We have gone several times to purchase calves from this gentlemen and our herd is growing nicely in numbers and weight. We placed a few of the older calves up for sale and currently are negotiating a trade of some bulls for younger heifers. Two of our new arrivals have become some of my favorites and I’ve begun lead training on Coco (a red Saler-looking heifer) and Wadebu (“Boo” a black angus). You can see them in the picture here. (Boo on left and Coco on far right) Boo is difficult and stubborn–not at all like Pip, who still loves his lead and going for walks.

Mike expanded the soon-to-be pasture area near the cowshed by taking a small portion of the field he planted soybeans in last year. The stubble will provide some fodder for the young herd until Spring, allows them room to “stretch their legs” and gets them fresh air and sunshine. The first day he had the electric fence up, he decided to let Pip out into the enclosure. Pip—the bull who has never seen an electric fence and has only been out of the pen on a lead with me coaxing him, assuring him, and controlling him. Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.

Apparently the first thing Pip did was panic and run amuck, crashing through some of the electric fence- Ouch!- then turning to run another direction only to get zapped by the fence again. He came to rest finally in the area he knew…the little “yard” I created for he and Rowdy to linger in and eat fresh grass. It seemed to calm him and Mike was able to return him to his stall. So yesterday I decided to reintroduce the calf to the new space, while controlling him on the lead.

I approached Pip in his stall with a “Would you like to go for a walk?” He looked at me with his big brown eyes and froze in place, his signal to me that he was willing. Ok. I took the lead down and entered his pen saying, “Stand, Pip.” Pip stood perfectly still while I placed the lead around his neck and clipped it into a loop. I opened the pen door and said, “OK, this way” and he followed me to the door. With a “whoa” he stopped just outside the door so I could keep Rowdy and Belle closed in and we began our walk. “Ha, Pip” I instructed and Pip turned left by the shed. “Ha,” he turned again. “Giddup, Pip” and we began a walk parallel to the electric fence until we were about 250 ft from the shed when suddenly Pip decided to sniff the fence. Oh no!  Zzzzzzapppp!

At that moment, Pip turned into a wild eyed, frenzied bull, fighting the lead, trying to pull me along, spinning around and around me and ignoring me calls of “Whoa, whoa!” I finally commanded firmly, “Pip, STAND!” Believe it or not, he stopped, froze in place and allowed me to pet his neck, soothe him, and removed the lead. He then followed as I walked a path parallel to the fence all around the new “yard” and something clicked. Once he knew his boundaries, he must have also felt some freedom for he began running back and forth down the length of the yard and kicking his heels up! I opened the pen door for Rowdy to join him and Pip ran from inside the pen to the end of the yard and back again. This was not the wild eyed fear from moments before, but utter jubilation! And it was contagious!

Beyond my own delight in his antics and the realization that he learned a new command a few days earlier when I played with the younger calves. “Amuck, amuck, amuck, amuck!” sent him running and kicking each time and back in the pen Brahma Mama (a huge Brahma cow we got with a calf at her side) was also kicking up her heels. Rowdy, the most laid-back calf in existence, chewed his cud a little faster, kicked up his heels, once, and went back to eating.

So we now have our latest additions, a new yard for the calves, and a new command they all enjoy. I just have to remember never to say that command while Mike is in the stall with Brahma Mama.

I also need to remember, that caring for the animals as simply a chore, takes away the pleaure of watching them play. It is my joy and jubilation, even if at my age I can no longer run “amuck, amuck, amuck, amuck.”

Image via Wikipedia

What an adventure today! Took Pip for a walk to the garden (about 1/4 mile from the house) so he could munch on some kale and Pak Choi…he tasted a little lettuce, ate a few leaves of turnips, wanted to try some cilantro (I stopped him)…in general he was enjoying our walk immensely…

When it was time to go back, I asked him if he wanted to go see Rowdy. Now, cows are not as stupid as you might think. He knows who Rowdy is and where he is in relation to where we walk and daily quickens his step to return to his room mate. Today, wasn’t that different EXCEPT…

On the dirt road back to his stall, the rain turned the road bed into a slippery mass of mud. Pip decided at that exact moment, not to just speed up a little but to run back to Rowdy at full speed. He yanked the lead out of my hand and there we were, a half-grown calf running a high speed up the lane dragging his blue lead behind him and me, little chubby, short legged, old lady me running behind him, but not gaining any ground! I looked like Fred Flinstone trying to get his car rolling! Instead of yelling, “Yabadabadoo!” though, I’m yelling “Pip, whoa! Pip, Whoa! Whoa, Pip! MIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKEEEEEEE!  Pip, whoa!” The little bull just keep running up the dirt road, across the strawberry field, and to the yard in front of his shed.

Fortunately, Mike was near the shed when he arrived and prevented the little bull from running into the two foot ditch being dug  by the plumber to run the water lines for the shed!

So Mike stopped him. He said that Pip actually allowed him to stop him and grab the lead. Nevertheless, the little guy’s eyes were wide and he had that ‘deer in a headlight’ look about him. I comforted Pip by rubbing his neck and speaking softly “Whoa, Pip. Good boy. Stand Pip” and he calmed down. I guess running away from your walking partner can be kind of scarey when a blue snake is chasing you (the lead). I then returned him to his bedroom. He’s happy now. He has Rowdy beside him, munched some grain, had a big drink of water and is settling back into his routine. Me? I’m trying to unhook my boobs from behind my ears where they landed when I took off in the run, dig the cow poop and mud from the soles of my shoes and if I ever catch my breath again, will eat some lunch.  Whew! What a day!

There was a lesson to be learned here. Don’t waterski on mud when the skiboat is a bull…and if you do, don’t drop the rope! You just might find yourself running with the bulls instead.

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Okay. So Mike and I have decided we like this calf-raising adventure we are in. There are drawbacks, to be sure, but for the most part, it is something that Mike is capable of and I have learned I have an affection for. That is probably a good combination…like his upper body strength versus my nurturing side. He can lift a calf up, give shots, shove meds down its throat, and take care of daily heavy things like dumping feed bags into the trough and so on– and I can bottle feed it it, assure it, console it, find treats for it, and teach it to walk on a lead. The adventure continues.

The calf shed is nearly complete. All that is left is running the water lines and electric to it, which will be done this week or next when the electrician and plumber are available. Certainly, we could tote water in the dark during the darkest and coldest mornings this winter, but having the utilities at the shed is worth the expense. I’m thinking a little kitchen would be a great asset too. A refrigerator for keeping certain medicines fresh and for keeping mice, raccoons and othes critters at bay would be good; so would a hot water heater for making bottles…or at least a microwave oven where water can be zapped quickly. Besides, what home does not need a kitchen?

Of course, Rowdy and Pip are already at home and loving their warm “bedroom”, the “living room” with a view, the “patio” outside and the long walks we now take around the “park” (farm). Yes, Mike is still teasing me about walking my calves on a leash, but Pip especially is getting so good at voice commands, he obeys them in the pen when he is not on the lead. Good boy! It will make it much easier when we have to move them down one stall to accommodate new and younger calves. I think the plumber got a kick out of seeing me walking Pip yesterday too. I didn’t hear his comment exactly, but I did see him laughing and shaking his head as he pulled away. Hmmm…what is so strange about walking your cow to greener grass? It’s cheaper than buying hay, extending an electric fence, or buying cattle panels!

Therein lies a bit of a problem for new cattle farmers. See, when you are starting operations on a frazzled shoestring, you have to cut corners wherever you can. A thousand dollar investment must stretch beyond, for example, one solitary registered cow or bull. In fact most of the registered cattle I have seen are over $1500! It would take a huge investment to have a decent herd if it was strictly pure-bred and registered animals, not to mention the time investment of waiting for calves to be born and then raising them for sale. We decided to concentrate on “lesser” cattle instead– until we could build a better herd. You know, we are using the whole ’beggars can’t be choosey’ mindset. It looks as though cast-offs from local dairy farms would be the least expensive way to establish our operations. The thing is, Kentucky is rapidly losing its dairy farms. Where does one find a dairy farm by which to buy these mostly-male calves?

An article at Maysville-online sums up the situation perfectly in the lead to one of its stories. It begins, “Ask about dairy farms in many Kentucky communities and a quick answer may be ’there aren’t any.’” Of course, the article then goes on to tell about thriving dairy farms in the Buffalo Trace region of the state (north east) and of the losses in several other Kentucky counties. After reading the article, I decided to try to call a dairy cattle salesman mentioned in the June 2011 article.

I googled the man’s name and sure enough, he showed up on the Kentucky Department of Agriculture site along with probably another dozen farmers offering dairy cattle. Unfortunately, when I called, I got a fax machine rather than a person. I looked over the list and tried calling other names in our general area. Numbers were disconnected and no longer in service. The search left me frustrated but still determined.

There were a number of people listed that I did not call due to geographic undesireability. See, I may be new to this, but it seems to me that a young calf that is susceptible to shipping fever does not need to be transported hundreds of miles to its new home…not to mention the savings on transportation costs. I wanted to find someone closer. I found another government site that mentioned the next county over has THREE dairy farms!! Yay! The question is…where? There were no addresses listed and none of the farmers we know that seem to know everyone in the county ever heard of them. I had heard a story about one small dairy (did I say small? It had a whopping seven cows) that went out of business a year or so ago. Was that one of the three?

So it looks like today, I’ll be paying a visit to some of the government offices in that county to see if the dairies still exist, ever existed, and where they are. I am thinking if they are as small as the one, our chances of getting bottle calves locally are pretty much non-existent. The shame of it is, I was really hoping to see a dairy in operation…that might be another adventure for us down the road…hey, we could do seven cows, right?

Quit laughing, Caddyshack!

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I mentioned last time how much easier it is to direct a young calf to where you want him to be while he is on a lead. That is kind of obvious, I realize, but not as easy as it sounds. I researched online to find out how to do it, and the methods I learned about were not satisfactory for me. I guess I was too inept.  For example, one site suggested the lead be put on a calf then the animal tethered to his stall or cattle gate. This only served to panic my babies who struggled to get loose. I resorted to my own method; time will tell if I am successful. Meanwhile, I am re-reading this site for ideas: http://www.prairieoxdrovers.com/training.html

This is what I have learned on my own so far. That is, I did not glean  it from a website:  When you feed a bottle calf, he always wants more and will head butt you, follow you around, lick your jeans, your clothes, or your hands looking for more of that warm, sweet delicious milk. That is a great time to introduce the lead, because the calf is distracted by his appetite and doesn’t notice you’ve slipped what amounts to a rope around his neck. In the cases of Pip and Rowdy, they also have shown a liking for my knuckles, like a human baby that is teething.  With a show of the knuckle of my first finger, both immediately kick in to “she’s got food!” mode, making it easy to place the lead around their necks and until they learn their commands of ‘giddup,’ ‘whoa,’ ‘gee,’ ‘haw,’ and ‘back up’ a good game of Chase the Knuckle suffices for them to follow me anywhere I choose.

Now, I have to say here, the boys (that’s what I call the calves) are not being trained as an ox team. Pip is quite a bit larger than Rowdy at this point and I remember the Biblical admonition not to be unequally yoked, so I figure there is a reason for that. I am simply training them in order to transfer them from pasture to pasture or from barn to trailer when needed. Of course, if they are lead broke– an expression I find comical in craigslist ads that say things like, ”grandkid broke horse”–  that may make them more appealing to a buyer. I do have to recognize, however, my fascination with seeing an ox team in action at the Homeplace 1850 down at Land Between the Lakes a few years back fueled my desire to “try it,” and was the source of my, er, obsession with training the calves today.

At the 1850s House, they used what looked to be a natural fiber rope and a wooden yoke to direct two huge apparently-Charolais steers to plow a garden while the driver stood in front commanding. I am using a lead I purchased from Tractor Supply. It is an inexpensive (less than $20, as I recall) piece of nylon rope approximately 8 ft long with brass rings and a clip (kind of like those on dog leashes).  If configured correctly, and you need to check this as I bought one that was faulty, the clip should attach to one of the brass rings and the other ring should hold the rope loop tight and prevent it tightening around the animal’s neck.  While the animal is hunting for more bottle, I put the lead around his neck and clip the ring to hold it. The whole time, I reassure them, “it’s okay,” and keep the length of the lead between me and the animal very short– perhaps three feet or lesss. Then we walk. Since the animal is searching for more milk, he willingly follows wherever I go and pays no attention to the lead rope itself, but still I command, ‘gee’ for left and ‘haw’ for right as we make turns on our walk. Pip responds well to the voice command, while Rowdy still pretty-much just plays Chase the Knuckle.

Because Pip has already played the I Can Outrun Three Grown Men game in our yard, his walks are limited to his stall and the postage stamp yard beyond. Rowdy, on the other hand travels the length of the shed, past Pip who watches enviously from his play yard, to the sweet clover on a stretch of grass between my irises and the soybeans. Today, he even tried a little soybean, but much preferred the green clover, dandelion, and fescue. When he refused to move with a “giddyup,” I showed him my knuckle and soon he followed closely. The only problem was his occasional decision to head bump me in the bottom to remind me he was there for the milk!

Every day now, sometimes a couple of times a day, I give the boys their bottles, place the lead on them and walk them in their designated areas. The boys, however, are about to be weaned off their bottles, so I am hoping their fascination with my knuckle will still work until they understand and obey voice commands. I will let you know how that goes.

In the mean time, the cattle shed is nearly complete and now has multi-function windows installed. They will provide light and ventilation, of course, but also a place to throw scoops full of used bedding when mucking out the stalls. Yep, Mike thought ahead.  Good thing. That is not the best idea for a city girl’s chore. In fact, I told him I would be a temporary Mama for the bottle babies, but “I am NOT a mother mucker!” That is his job. Besides, he has the pickup truck.

It’s been slow going, but I think I may have finally gotten Mike broke to a lead, as a fresh pile of used bedding has arrived in the field near the asparagus. He still is not responding well to voice commands, though. I wonder if I need to show him my knuckle?

Checking out the new place

Rowdy and Pip have a new place. What an exciting day for them!

We started working on the new cow shed about a month ago. We, in this case, is Mike, two hired men, and me who is aces at supervising, running for beer and sandwiches and occasionally pecking in a nail using 30 or 40 strokes that takes a man maybe six. Nevertheless, it is nearly complete and its first occupants arrived yesterday evening.

Now far be it from me, a mere city girl, to make any suggestions when it comes to moving calves from one location to another, but it struck me how one should NOT do it. Do not transport the little guys in the back seat of your extended cab pick up truck. Even if you do place feed bags on the seat and floor, they have a knack for squirting fecal matter onto the door where handles, knobs, buttons and crevices are ready receptacles for the ooze.

Do not hand carry the little guys over a large distance or climb over the cattle gate with one in your arms. They look small, but they do weigh well over a hundred pounds and frankly, they do not like to be picked up. Upon release from that position, they may kick… and HARD. Placing them into the pickup truck may not be quite as difficult as getting the door closed behind their kicking hooves.

Do not open the doors of your truck upon the arrival at your destination and let said animals exit your vehicle on their own accord. Particularly do not do that if you are not within a very few feet of their new abode. Young calfs previously keep in a shed and never venturing out even a foot into the sunshine and green pastures apparently do not realize there is a huge world beyond their confines and it freaks them out! Without a lead, leash, or at least a firm grasp of their ear, they may bolt like an Olympic runner at the sound of the start gun. This is particularly true if the calf imagines himself a thoroughbred racer.

If you do choose to let them out of the vehicle on their own, be aware they will most likely head the direction of other cattle or the woods, whichever is less convenient to you. The sprint will likely also involve zig zagging and circle running, then a bolt towards the woods, down in the hollow behind the greenhouse, beyond the soy beans awaiting the combine and the six foot high Johnson grass canes on the perimeter of the field and finally into the midst of the blackberry brambles and into chigger and snake country. If you insist on doing this, be sure to choose a cool fall day. Fewer leaves makes sighting the calf a little easier.

A running calf can easily outrun three grown men. Be aware of that fact when you are removing said animal from the transport vehicle. The lead and harness that was placed in the other vehicle for the purpose of controlling the animals, probably will not do much good if you leave it in that vehicle. It is not a decoration. It will also not do much good if after running and trying to catch the calf for ten minutes you have been left out of breath, angry, and shakey. The calf will sense your displeasure and refuse to allow you to put on the harness and lead now. You may have to carry him the last 400 feet while one of your accomplices carries the now-useless rope.

Practice using the harness at least once prior to transporting your calf. The woman standing there calmly petting the other calf (you know, the one that followed her without a problem into the new abode) worked with the calves using the halter and knows how to put it on the animal. She could have instructed you–  even though you made fun of her for trying to walk her calves on a leash a couple of weeks ago. Then again, she did not have to chase her calf for ten minutes and need two men to help wrestle her calf into the new quarters. She just spoke softly to the animal, petting and calming him until he was ready to follow her.  Then led him, without the need of the halter or lead from the truck to his stall.

Wonder how that happened…