bum calves!
My Dad called last week to see if I wanted a bum calf that he'd found that was pretty hungry. I was thrilled! Of course! Celestia and I jumped in the pickup with a dog kennel strapped down in the box and went to get my baby.
When we got there and saw the little thing, I had a feeling that it was going to end badly. Her little eyes were sunken back into her head and she didn't have a lot of try, but I loaded her up and brought her home anyway. Where there's life, there's hope, right? That's always sort of been my family's way of thinking and I guess I subscribe to that school of thought pretty strongly. Besides, she was a nice big boned calf and if she DID make it, she'd be a good one, I thought! And I named her Poppy, because that's such a fragile looking flower, but tough despite its tissue paper-like blossom.
We got her home and unloaded, then tried to feed her, but she really didn't take much...maybe 1 cup of milk replacer and Dad had given her a shot of Nursemate (colostrum paste) before we left his house. I let her come into the yard and she settled under the apple trees, exhausted from her big trip. We checked on her all evening and tried to feed her again a couple times, but she was getting weaker and weaker. At dark, I knew she was going to die and I just held the poor thing and sobbed, while Celestia held ME and tried to make me feel better. Things are always harder in the dark, aren't they?
The next morning, I went out to check and she was still alive, amazingly, but she was cold, cold...her body, her tongue, her legs....and I rubbed her hard to try to stimulate the blood flow and she bleated a little. I was able to get another cup or so of replacer into her, after a lot of tussle, then went inside to cook breakfast. I looked out to check and she was in her final minutes, such a hard thing to watch. I'd mourned her the night before, so it was an odd relief that she wasn't suffering anymore.
A couple days later, Dad called again; he'd found another little bum, a twin he thought, a little heifer with a lot of try. Did I want her? Yes, I did! So once again, I loaded up the kennel and went to fetch my calf. This time, I met Dad at a turnoff where he was going branding that morning and he pulled the tiniest bright eyed baby out of the horse trailer for me. I mean to tell you, she was no bigger than a minute! But bright eyed and strong. And I named her Poppy, because I needed that name to go on a calf with hope.
I got her home and Wayland helped me unload her. I went back into the house to make breakfast and get Maggie lined out for school and Wayland gave her her first bottle. He said she kept trying to wedge herself between the house and doghouse, but we weren't really all that concerned because there was plenty of room. When I went to check on her a little later, she was sleeping under the deck, warm and happy.
We've had her for a week now and she STILL crawls the fence from the calf pen, no matter how many times I put her back, and sleeps under the deck. And she's pushy, bossy, bullheaded, smart and funny. When I come out on the deck, she starts yelling at me, demanding her bottle. When I'm done feeding her, she trots along behind me to the other calves, just in case I have ANOTHER bottle for her. She's not impressed with them, they don't care a snizzle for her, but they're all healthy and good, so that's what matters. Poppy is getting strong! I can hardly haul her back to the pen, now. I think she'll be just fine. And with her little fighter personality, if she grows at all, I may keep her.
Here she is!
Just another little black bum calf to everyone else, but a delight to me...
She's yelling at me, because I'm taking pictures instead of feeding her. She yells at me a lot.
See how she's ignoring Buttercup? They have their own little gang going and she's not going to be invited to join. As my friend Traci says, "Three is the loneliest number." and apparently it applies to cows, too.
"Come out, Poppy! It's dinnertime!"
