Calf Update - Mooooving in

Since I last posted about our wee calf, we have trekked out to the country every morning and evening to hunt him down, get safely away from his 1200 pound mama, and feed the little booger a bottle.


Each visit was a little bit different. Finding her, finding him, figuring out how to quickly and safely get him into the bed of the truck for his bottle.  Mama cow worked her way closer each time.  The first couple of visits she didn't seem to know where he was.  But finally she figured out that we had him in the truck and she was not shy about coming around.  Big round, roly, wild-looking eyes, chin hung over the tailgate, tongue lolling out, reaching for baby.  

She never got aggressive, just stayed close enough to keep an eye on us and her baby.  

Always backing away as Dad carefully stepped down to the ground with the calf.

Each time we would look the calf over carefully, trying to guess his well-being.  Was he getting any stronger?  Was he losing more weight?  And the big question: was he getting anything from his mama?


After 5 meals-on-wheels feeds delivered to the pasture, we decided, no, baby was unfortunately not getting any nourishment from mama cow, and we went in this morning for a rescue mission.  Or a calf-napping.  However you want to look at it.


Excitement was high and tension was mounting as we searched for mama and baby.  We were in our usual a.m. feeding configuration: Gramps and the boys in the atv, Mimi & the girls in the truck.  We searched on one side of a row of trees and didn't see them, so the guys worked through to the other side. We sat and waited, straining to see what was going on on the other side of the trees.  We could see just enough to know that they had found the calf.  Then we realized they had scooped it up with them.


Sure enough, moments later they charged through the trees, Dale sitting in the back with the calf.  

Grabbing a quick pic while Gramps closes a gate!

We set out in the lead, and the race was on to get us all through the gate before Mama cow decided to follow.  She's learned to trust us over the last few days, and has been in less of a hurry to get to baby every time we show up.  The first time she was nearly panicking.  I suppose today she figured we'd hand him back over in a few minutes like we had always done before.  


Not so, this time.  This time we got him to a separate location where he guzzled down his bottle. 

Alan insisted on bringing his rope to this event.
No way was I going to point out he's never roped anything!

Once he was all full, we bedded him down for The Move.


To our backyard.


Yes, my friends, we are now bottle-raising a calf in our backyard.


We are taking him on as a project more than a pet, and are already talking up-front with the boys about the fact that he will be sold this fall.


That hasn't seemed to stop us from enjoying scratching his little head throughout the day.  And strongly rooting for his full recovery and growth to stout, playful calf.


We are looking forward to the learning experience this will be for all of us, but no one is more excited than our little farmer.  Alan is taking on baby responsibilities quite seriously, and makes sure he is tended to and cared for well.  

Alan, nose-to-nose with our new charge, making sure he's settling in comfortably.

My biggest hope is that our little calf perks up and takes a similar shine to Alan.  A few more bottles and head scratches and we just might be there!

In which my parents and I act as lactation consultants to a cow.

Do you remember this post, where I was feeling some camaraderie with a big mama cow?


I've been at it again, but a little more hands-on this time.


I don't know how familiar you are with what a nursing mama cow's undercarriage is supposed to look like, and really, I'm no expert myself, but anyone that has ever nursed a baby (and many that haven't) would have to know this just can't be good:

Let's all say together: OUCH.


But more problematic than the mama's mams was the serious issue of the baby's nourishment.  


This mama birthed a sweet-faced little calf on Saturday or early Sunday, and the little fella just hasn't been getting enough to eat.  


So I became my daddy's ranch-hand side-kick today, to help rescue a calf!


After one more re-con mission to see how baby was doing, we decided, yes, it was time to resort to a bottle and formula.  Mama cow was sticking pretty close during this visit.  It was painful to watch her run across the pasture to check on her baby when we got too close for her comfort.


An hour or two later, joined by my mom, we headed back to the calf's cozy grass nest.  Mama cow trotted along behind us at a pretty good pace, but we got to a gate and closed it behind us before she got too close.  Once she realized she was separated from her baby she started putting up a pretty good fuss.


Meanwhile, we got to the calf and started trying to get him to take the bottle.  

This part was much more difficult than I had imagined it would be.  The calf either didn't know how to suck, or didn't have the strength.  


The above pose didn't last long.  Pretty quick Dad and I switched places so I was straddling the calf and he and mom were working together to hold his head and the bottle and get some milk into him so he'd start to suck.  Obviously mom had to put the camera down for that to work.  

Finally, after some work on the bottle nipple, it was like a little bovine lightbulb went off and baby started really taking down some milk.


It was about that time that dad noticed some movement off to his right, and we all looked up to see.... Mama Cow.


Uh oh.


Dad had Mom move around to another side of the atv, and I was ready to jump in, and he was ready to... run.  Mama cow circled around us about three times, not too upset, but not too happy either.

It was like she knew we weren't hurting her baby, and kind of suspected we were helping, but she still didn't like it.  (We later found the place in the fence where she had most likely pushed her way through to get to her calf.)  


Finally, she got close enough and Dad felt good enough about how much the calf had taken down that we let mama and baby reunite.  

We sat and watched as a much perkier, more energized calf tried to nurse on his poor mama's gigantic ... you-knows.  


The hope is we can supplement the calf with enough to get him stronger and bigger, while he keeps nursing on mom, giving her some relief and eventually balancing out her supply with his demand. 


It's an experience I've never had before, and I am loving every bit of it!

Thanks, Dear

We choose to remain in the dark ages cheap ways frugal living of cell phone use.


We don't carry smart phones, and our plan includes a limited amount of texts.  


In the years we've been on this plan, the limited amount of texting has never been a problem.  I have always texted to my heart's content and never gone over.  


Until this month.  And boy oh boy did I go over.


After learning of this unexpected expense I was fretting and stewing at that fact that I had cost us like that.


I realized that through all my talking about it Greg had carried on with regular conversation and playing with the boys.


I commented that he didn't seem very worried about it.


"It's just money," he told me.


Touched by his kind perspective, I thanked him for being so understanding and told him I appreciated it.  "A lot of men in your place would give their wives a hard time."


He told me again, "I'm not worried about it.  But it is coming out of your allowance."




(P.S. Just to clarify: I don't get an allowance, and spend freely from our funds.  That's what made this joke funny.)

Me-thinks we have too many caps.

Can you name that children's book?

This is how Alan appeared from his room this morning, calling the whole way down the hall, "Caps for sale!  Caps for sale!"


He even had his own personal monkey:

Fried chicken livers.

I don't know how the majority of the population feels about them.  I suspect it is a love 'em / hate 'em, take 'em or leave 'em kind of feeling.
And possibly a regional thing?


We had livers off and on as I was growing up.  Rare enough to be a treat, and not too often to get tired of them.  Maybe 2 or 3 times a year?


With both of my first two pregnancies I had them more often, for the health benefits to mama & baby.


And then my baby was diagnosed with liver disease.  And had a liver transplant. And I held his removed, diseased liver in my hand.


And that was the end of my chicken liver eating.  I had no interest in or appetite for the organ meat of a chicken or any other critter.  I even avoided them in the Thanksgiving giblet gravy.


Four and a half years later, my little sister comes home for a visit, pregnant with her first child.  My mother, saddled with the same sudden liver aversion as me, decides for the sake of her other daughter and unborn grandchild, she must grit her teeth and carry on.


So she bought some chicken livers, fried 'em up, and served them.  And well... since there they were and they smelled pretty good, she went ahead and ate some, too.  Since there I was, across town and preggers myself, she made me up a sandwich and brought it over.


And what do you know, Sam I Am.... they weren't that bad.


In fact, they were "not that bad" enough that a couple of weeks later I drove through a local chicken place to try them again.  And enjoyed them.  The key is not to think too long or hard (or at all) about exactly what it is you are eating.


But considering the fact that I just wrote this post while eating yesterday's drive-thru left-overs, I'd say the self-imposed chicken liver prohibition has been lifted!


What about you? Do you like liver? Have you ever eaten it?  
Could you, would you, Sam-I-Am?

My Point Exactly

Greg and I drove to church this morning, he with new funky glasses and me with a bun in the oven.  It was the first time we would see our church family since making the big announcement on the blog and facebook.


As we rode along, Greg commented on the potential for us to make a little splash upon arrival, what with his different look and our big news.  We then agreed that neither of us like making a splash.  Or making a scene.  We are both blend into the background kind of people.


I then pointed out that it must be difficult to blend into any background with 5 kids in tow.


At this point Dale, unaware of our conversation, pipes up from the backseat, "Hey Daddy!  The next time you go to Walmart or the hardware store can you get some orange spray paint?"


Obvious response from Daddy: "Why?"


"Because me and Alan just saw a mailbox with FLAMES on it and we need to paint flames on our mailbox!"


Yeah... good luck to us and that "blending in" thing.

From all of us to all of you:

We here in the herd

are pleased to announce

coming in October 2012

a new little buffalo or butterfly!