Of course Jim was away for the day on Saturday, when I discovered that two of the cows were in labor. Should be no big deal, I figure. I grab the digital camera. The farthest along is Molly. It will be her second calf.
And it wasn’t a big deal, until after the first birth, when the OTHER cow in labor decided how nice it was that she’d already given birth but didn’t remember. She wouldn’t let Molly anywhere near her own calf, and Molly, being new to this whole procedure, backed off. Not so me.
I put down the camera and spent twenty minutes duking it out with the old cow. We circled around that baby dozens of times, me punching her on the side of the nose every time she leaned down to lick the calf. Finally I got her circling farther from the calf, allowing Molly back in there. With a LOT of help from God (yes, He DOES care about stuff like this), I managed to get the older cow clear down to the other end of the pasture and somehow locked up into the calving pen BY MYSELF (except…remember God?). That’s probably an eighth of a mile. I have NEVER been good at moving cows. But like the Visa credit card commercial says, I was everywhere she wanted to be. When I got back, this is what I saw:
The old cow gave birth about an hour later.
We are now at thirteen calves, and about ready to go tag the two babies and turn them loose with the other moms and babies. They’re well bonded with each other by now.