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March 19, 2006
Up all night
Or, why there is a cow in the basement.
The cow started her labor about 6pm. First time all around - her first calf and our first time calving. Ya know a couple years ago, I sat in on a seminar about holistic medicine, and the vet's primary focus was cows. We covered birthing in detail and it was at that time I decided maybe cows weren't for us.
Well.
The snow started to fly about 8pm. Gary went out about every 30 minutes, I would go with him every other trip at first. (I admit when it comes to cold air, I am a wimp and need about 7 layers. That takes a long time to put on and take off.) The calf's hoof was outside the mama for a couple hours and was cold. What we first thought was an ear turned out to be the calf's tongue. So here is this 800 pound cow, laying down, with a foot and a tongue hanging out, both ends I must add.
At about 10 it was obvious that this girl was in trouble and we either had to get someone out here, or move to drastic measures. The vet we called didn't want to come out, saying there wasn't a lot to be done and if we didn't want a c-section, we had to resign ourselves to a freezer full of steaks and burgers.
So we went in. We pulled we pushed we pleaded and prodded. Despite what she must have been feeling, the cow barely let out a groan, just small snuffling sounds that sounded like our donkey warming up his pipes in the morning.
This calf was big. For reference, the hoof outside of her was bigger than a coffee mug by far and more the size of a dessert plate ( you know what I was thinking about at 11pm).
We decided the calf was dead and resorted to pulling him out. We used ratcheting straps. We wrapped one end around the hoof sticking out, and then again on the hoof still inside, and I placed a leather glove underneath so the calf would not be wounded - you know, just in case.
Gary began applying force and I held the cow open as we pulled the calf out, little by little. It soon became obvious that this calf was alive, although by this point his poor little tongue was quite swollen, either from pressure or frost bite.
Finally he slid out. As with goat kids, once we get past the shoulder, the rest is cake. I pulled my coat off and threw it on the calf, Gary ran to get towels and warm water for mama. But let me fill you in on something- running through a cow field at midnight in the winter after a few days of spring is hard work. Your feet break through snow and ice and sink into mud. It's worse for the cows.
Gary struggled to carry this huge calf to the house, a field away, while I got the area by the woodstove ready for him. I set up some old rugs and bathmats in front of the woodstove and stuck my head out the door, wondering where Gary was. Turns out he was calling me. We both carried the calf the last third of the way. We had already milked out mama for that all important colustrum but baby had to get warm first. Gary went outside to work on mama. She wasn't getting up.
Posted by roosterh at March 19, 2006 2:01 AM
Comments
It's all worth it in the end isn't it. I hope you were able to save mama too. My husband and I ran a dairy farm for many years just east of Elmira, in Millerton,Pa. I remember many nights like that.
I really enjoy reading articals about families close to where we are from, it makes it all seem so real.
Posted by: Colleen Gruver at April 22, 2006 10:03 AM
Posted to CowWow. You have me hooked. I'll be a frequent visitor at your blog. Must catch up with your previous posts. Finally someone who knows what I've been going through the past few years!
Posted by: Barbara from Nova Scotia at April 25, 2006 10:54 AM
Posted to Cow