Earl’s cattle were range animals. We sold the steers to the market for slaughter and kept the heifers and cows for future breeding stock. The cattle ran wild all over the ranch. Herefords are good range animals. They walk a long way for water, can live off any type of feed, and can withstand both high and low temperatures. There is one drawback, though. Herefords are notorious for their difficulty with birthing the first time. Many nights, we would spend hours waiting for a new momma to start the whole life process so we could be there to help, if necessary. It was always a neat sight to witness one of God’s new creations happen.
I have always been a fan of James Herriot, the famous English veterinarian, and always wanted to be just like him. I had read all of his books before I started working at the ranch and knew what to expect. I loved being there during the event and always felt left out when I didn’t get to go.
When a cow has trouble birthing, the wonderful process becomes slimy, dirty, and very strenuous. There was never a clean place to help with the delivery. When it started, it had to finish in the same place. We would watch the cow for a while to assess the situation and get everything ready for the assist, if needed. The tools were simple: A rope with a loop at each end, and a “come-along” which was a handheld winch system. When trouble happened, there was no time to be squeamish. We would rope the cow around the horns, pull its head close to a post, and tie it firmly. Now the cow could not move around too easily.
It was easiest to take off your shirt, no matter how cold it was, soap and disinfect your hands and arms, and plunge right in. The goal is to find the front feet, slip the looped rope around each foot, and then begin to pull the calf. When the cow pushed, we pulled. Most times this process could be done by hand, but sometimes it was necessary to use the come-along.
The come-along was hooked to a post opposite the cow’s rear end. A long steel-stranded cable was pulled out and hooked to the calf rope protruding from the cow’s posterior. The cable was then ratcheted to pull the calf out. We had to be careful, though, because the cow could pull back or move quickly and hurt the calf.
Once the calf was out, we cleared its mouth and nose of amniotic fluid, and the calf took its first breath. Then the real miracle took place. We would untie the calf’s front feet, remove the rope from the cow, and stand back to enjoy the show.
Momma would clean her calf by licking it all over. The hungry little calf would try to stand up and walk for the first time. It is always amazing to see a calf do in thirty minutes what it takes a child over a year to accomplish. After a few wobbly steps, it is feeding on momma’s full bottles, and then off for a long nap in its new world. Meanwhile, we would clean up and get back to work.
One time, however, it wasn’t quite so easy. The calf would not suck its momma, and Earl forgot the powdered milk. He had a large bottle and nipple, though, and the cow had milk, so Earl got a crazy idea. We tied the cow’s head to a stout post, and Earl handed me the bottle. I’m a cowboy, not a dairy farmer. I had never even seen a cow milked, let alone milk one myself, but it couldn’t be too hard. Just squeeze and pull down. That’s what I get for thinking. Thinking and me is a very dangerous combination. These cows were wild, not the docile dairy cows seen in the movies. I walked up gingerly to the cow, avoiding the posterior. I had been kicked enough to know to avoid that area. As I reached in, listening to the cow snorting and breathing hard, I discovered something new. Cows can kick forward, too. And hard! I opened my eyes, looking up into the face of a big, orange, deranged animal. Earl was trying to tell me how to get in closer to avoid getting kicked. I never got a hold of that teat, though I tried countless times from both sides. Earl, of course, was not game for a go at it. He would much rather sit and watch someone else get creamed.
Earl finally decided to make things easier by tying a rope around the deadly weapon attached to the cow’s hip, and then tying the other end of the rope to a post behind the cow. What a grand idea!! Thirty minutes and hundreds of bruises too late, he declared the cow safe by his standards which was the same thing he had said thirty minutes earlier. He then beckoned me to the torture chamber again.
Accepting my fate, I proceeded to sneak in for another go. She could not kick and was extremely perturbed. I was very relieved. I got a hold of a teat, squeezed and pulled, and a drop of milk came out. ONE DROP! I worked on those teats for at least a half an hour, switching hands often because they got so tired. I ended up getting about two cups of milk when Earl decided to release the rope without warning. Luckily I had learned from my experience and backed up quickly. I could feel the wind whistle past my head as the hoof missed me by millimeters. I gave the bottle to Earl and spent the next thirty minutes trying to remove the rope from a very strong, extremely quick, kicking hoof.
Earl had secured the nipple on the bottle and was feeding the small, skinny calf. It soon realized that it was missing out. The calf, after drinking the bottle, immediately began nursing Momma to the satisfaction of all involved—Earl, momma, calf, and most of all, me.
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