Aaaaaaaah - calving, my favorite time of year. It’s wonderful to see the calves frolicking. I have been fortunate this spring - is it spring yet? It has felt like it. The weather has been balmy, the robins are back, as are my ringed turtle doves. The redwings are bickering in the trees, driving Ty to distraction. I’ve had so many birds - I bought another bird bath. I think I have more than enough feeders, but if I see one that catches my eye. . .
The other night I saw a calf sleeping alone in a field. I usually drive the Kawasaki Mule, but I walked over to it. As I woke him, I remembered seeing his mother at the feedbunk. A long walk for a sleepy, hungry calf. If I had been on the Mule, I’d have hoisted him on the floor and given him a lift. He decided to run in the opposite direction to the closest available cow. Mrs. 155 - who we did not raise - but bought a few years ago - with a bunch of her sisters. She’s a yellow tagged, notched ear, nutjob, wacko bovine. Great. . . She’s the one who raises her head above the herd whenever she spots me. She’s the one who starts swinging her head if I enter her personal space. Her personal space happens to be the entire farm. Not a mad cow, but she does have serious anger issues. Actually, she’s pure instinct. The mothering instinct is commendable, and killing coyotes that threaten is okay, too. As for me, I don’t go near her. . . I know better. The photo below was taken from outside the feedlot. Isn’t she the stuff nightmares are made of?
I left the field and headed to find mama. There she was, in her full bagged glory. I got behind her and we started walking to the field. I could see the wheels turning as she bellowed, “Oh, yeah, I did leave that baby out here, didn’t I?”. Of course he wasn’t exactly where she left him. He was now by Mrs. 155 and her son (who has not been tagged or banded yet). Now everyone was bellowing - except Mrs. 155 who was roaring and running straight at me. I was backing up and hollering, “No, no, no,” as I wondered what good the two foot long branch in my hand was.
Mrs. 155 was so excited she was slobbering. She was so intent on destruction that she tripped and fell to her front knees. I was still in reverse as I watched her bulky bovine noggin hit the dirt a few feet in front of me. I ran as fast as my bum leg and aging body allowed, scrambling through the barbed wire. I may have left some clothes on the fence, but I was alive!
