Next Generation

The 2008 calving season has started at Deitschland Farm.  It is always a time of excitement, anticipation and anxiety as we await the results of each cow’s nine-month gestation.  Our prayers are answered when no complications accompany the birthing process and we have a picture-perfect calf to add to the herd.

This year, we are calving out more than a dozen first-calf heifers.  In order to make it easier on these new mothers, we used a calving ease bull last spring to serve the heifers artificially.  We have anxiously awaited the first offspring by this A.I. sire to see whether or not he lives up to his reputation for low-birth-weight calves.

My 2008 wall calendar is marked with heifer numbers and their projected due dates.  Our first calves were anticipated to arrive last weekend.  We were pleasantly surprised to find a healthy heifer calf bouncing around the winter pasture with her new mom a full week earlier than predicted by the charts.  It was a special moment when I realized the first heifer to calve in the New Year was a two-year-old whose life was a mixture of tragedy and miracles.

Anna Banana, as I nicknamed her, was one of those stubborn calves that took a wrong turn and entered the birth canal tail first on her birthday.  Her twelve-year-old dam’s intense laboring delivered nothing but distress for both the cow and her human “midwives!”  Her straining left us few choices and only a few minutes to make them.  We decided to sacrifice the cow’s life in order to try to save her baby, or risk losing both of them.

Those types of decisions are never easy ones to make.  Nevertheless, we knew we had to act quickly if we wanted any chance to keep the calf alive.  Working as a team, and with the help of a long-time friend, we performed the emergency operation on the dying cow, pulling the calf from her abdomen and tearing away the life-giving placenta sack that encapsulated the calf inside the cow and which now threatened to suffocate it.

Lifting the slippery calf away from the cow, the umbilical life line tore, ending the connection between them.  It was up to the calf to live or die, and not much time to intervene.  We worked frantically to stimulate the heart beat, holding our breath until the calf’s nostrils flared with its first independent breath.

After what felt like an eternity but was actually only a few seconds, the newborn calf sucked a gulp of air into its rattling lungs.  At the same time, we all exhaled in relief.  The first step toward life was taken by the soon-to-be orphan.  I glanced at the cow as I toweled dry her final offspring.  My heart ached as I watched her strain her head to see her calf.  Her instinct to perform her maternal duties was strong, even in death.  As her heart beat grew weaker, her calf's grew stronger.

The orphan heifer’s breaths were clearer, now, and had transformed her nose from a hue of blue to rosy pink.  With the first hurdle crossed in keeping this calf alive, my mind raced toward the next step.  This orphan would be counting on us for every ounce of nourishment it would need to survive.

We would have to substitute its mother’s antibody rich milk with artificial colostrum and milk replacer.  I raced to the farm supply store to purchase these ingredients and mixed a container full with warm tap water.  I hoped the calf's will to live had not ebbed away in the meantime.

I was relieved when I saw the heifer lying up on her chest and watching my approach to the straw-filled pen where she lay all alone. I held my breath as I held the nursing bottle in front her and eased the rubber nipple into her mouth.  Would she suck?  If not, her struggle to survive would certainly take a turn for the worse.  After a few minutes of uncertainty about the smell and feel of this artificial udder replacement, Anna Banana’s tongue began to work gently and tentatively, and then earnestly and rapidly as the warm fluid flowed into her for the first of many meals.

Thus began a summer spent feeding my orphan heifer.  She would rush to the gate every morning and evening to enjoy her bottle and a back scratch.  She was growing and thriving, thanks to her individualized attention.  Eventually, we allowed her to be part of the herd so that she could interact with the other calves and have as normal a life as an orphan can have.

As her diet shifted from milk to grain, Anna’s dependence on me was lessened as well as the number of bottles I had to prepare.  While I appreciated the break from extra work, I almost missed having her rely on me to fulfill her needs.  I thought about her mother, and was glad that we had succeeded in pulling this calf through a traumatic start to life.

And now, Anna Banana has brought the next generation into this world.  Thankfully, her daughter was not as stubborn as she was at birth.  Anna and baby carry on the pedigree.  All the hours, spent fulfilling my silent promise to a dying cow, were remembered as I welcomed this New Year baby into our herd.  I celebrate, once again, the miracle of life and new beginnings on our farm.

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