Red bull

No, not Redbull the energy drink. We're talking about a red bull. Like this:

This is a Polled Hereford bull, which is the breed of bull that we currently own. Polled means that it is a hornless breed. We prefer not to have horned cattle because it's a lot safer. On the other hand, most of our cows are black Angus, which you've all seen before. They're black. When a Hereford bull breeds with a black Angus cow, it produces cute little calves like this:

Hereford bulls are commonly bred with Angus cows and vice versa. They are both good breeds of beef cattle. And since we don't run a pedigreed, purebred cattle business, then it's ok for us to have some mixed blood. The cross between Herefords and Angus are called Black Baldy's, because as you can see,

the resulting calf is black, with a "bald" or white face. The white face and black coat are dominant genes, but you can also get a red calf with a white face. Last year, out of our 26 calves, 21 were black baldys and 5 were red baldys, but all had a white face. So you can see, the black coat gene and white face gene are dominant. This year, out of our 6 calves that have been born so far, 3 are black and 3 are red.

Anyway, back to the main point. This is the story of our Red Bull. It was the late fall/early winter of 2009. I believe that Joseph had just gotten home from his mission, but maybe I'm mistaken on that point. Joseph and I went to a bull sale at the Utah State Fairgrounds. Clayton was working late that night, and Joseph and I were the only ones who were available to go. We weren't actually planning on buying a bull; in fact, we drove there in Joel's Durango. Not exactly a bull-hauling vehicle. We were only going to the sale to see what prices good bulls were going for. Now, mind you, Joel had given Joseph a blank check, and said that if we found a really good bull for under $2,000, then well, maybe we could think about buying one. But although we were in the market for a new bull or two, having recently sold our bulls, we weren't planning to buy one at this time. Window shopping, we were only window shopping.

But sometimes, you're out window shopping, and you find something so tempting, something absolutely gorgeous that is priced so low, that you've just gotta have it. We're sitting there in the auction ring, Joseph and I, and they're bringing out some really nice bulls. Really nice. The Angus bulls were a bit higher priced than was in our budget, but that's ok, because after all, we weren't going to buy a bull tonight. Right? Right?

They started bringing out the Hereford bulls, and they were going for really really low prices. I mean, these are some fine looking animals, going for $1500, $1750, $2100. Right in our price range. They bring out a beautiful two year old bull, and before we knew what we were doing, we started bidding. Joseph was probably the youngest bidder in the room, so I'm not sure that the auctioneer took us very seriously, but we kept on bidding. And what do you know? The price was right, and we had bought ourselves a bull. Joseph, when he had realized what he had done, was pretty nervous and unsure of himself. He was worried that the powers that be (Joel & Clayton) would be upset at our unauthorized bull-buying expedition. And a Hereford bull, at that. Now, there's nothing wrong with Herefords, or black baldys; in fact, black baldy cows are known for being excellent mothers. And we've had Herefords before in the past, but the current market is leaning more towards straight black Angus beef. So you better believe that when we called Joel and then Clayton, to tell them that we had bought ourselves a Hereford bull, well, let's just say that they were both pretty surprised.

So why did we buy the bull? After all, we were just window shopping. No thanks, I'm just looking. Just checking out the merchandise. Well, I can't answer for Joseph, but when they brought that bull out, I think I just fell in love a little. He was barely two years old, but he was HUGE. Way bigger than our previous bulls. He was just the most beautiful speciman of a bull that I'd ever seen. And to this day, I still tell him all the time what a fine looking bull he is. (PS, the picture of the bull at the top is not him. As beautiful as he is, I've never taken his picture. How ironic. I just pulled that picture off of Wikipedia.)

Back to the bull sale. So we had just bought ourselves a handsome bull, but as I said earlier, we had driven the Durango. Didn't bring a trailer or even a halter to walk the bull home along the freeway. Just kidding. Luckily for us, one of the bull sellers/buyers was a rancher from Grantsville, which is a 5-10 minutes drive from Tooele. We worked up our courage, approached the rancher, and told him our pathetic tale; that we were two kids from Tooele who had somehow bought ourselves a bull but had no way to get him home. He took pity on us fools, and even more luckily, had room in his big stock trailer for just one more bull. We packed our beautiful bull into the crowded trailer, said goodbye, and then drove ourselves home. And Joseph took our own trailer out to Grantsville in the morning to pick up our beautiful bull and drove him home. He's not aggressive like Bull #49, but I wouldn't say that he's as gentle as Bull #20. Just a nice medium temperament. He has proved himself to be very fertile, which is a nice bonus to his good looks. Our first crop of calves that he fathered was one of our most prolific years we've had. AND in that first crop, we got our first pair of twin calves that we've had in about 25 years. How cool is that??

My last bragging point about our handsome bull is this: last spring we took Red Bull to the vet for his yearly check-up. At the check-up, the vet takes some measurements and checks for diseases. He also takes a sperm sample to make sure the bull isn't shooting blanks, so to speak. Well, at our spring check-up, the vet took our bull's sperm sample, examined the swimmers under a microscope, and then proclaimed that it was the best sperm sample he'd seen in weeks. I was so proud, I nearly popped the buttons off of my jacket. That's my Red Bull!

This ain't no bull . . .

One of the most important aspects of a cattle ranch is your bull, or bulls, if you have more than one. The daddy of the herd, your bull breeds with the cows which creates calves in 9 months. There's your birds & bees lesson for the day.

Probably you've heard stories about mean bulls that chase people or anything red. There's the "Running of the Bulls" in Spain where a large group of bulls are run through the streets of the town, running over any of the idiots who happen to get in the way. A lot of people get this idea that all bulls are mean and scary and dangerous. This is like saying that all cats are lazy, or all babies are cute. The truth is, some bulls can be mean and scary and dangerous. And some are docile, non-aggressive bovines, such as Ferdinand. Every bull is different, and they can be mean or nice, it just depends on their temperament.

On a side note, I have heard that there are a few breeds of dairy bulls that are notoriously aggressive and seriously scary. My sister-in-law's family has a dairy, and I asked her if they kept bulls or did A.I. (not artificial intelligence, we're talking about artificial insemination here). She said that they haven't kept a bull since she was very little. Apparently one time, their bull got loose, chased a bunch of kids and some workers into a horse trailer, and then kept ramming the trailer with his head trying to get to the people inside. Her sister has never gone back to their milking barn since this incident.

We've got a couple of stories about bulls which I will share with you over the next few days. First of all, here's some ranching info for you to help you understand how things work. Most ranchers either, A) keep their bull for breeding for several years, selling all of their calves each year, OR B) get a new bull every 2-3 years. The reasoning behind this is: A) If you are selling all of your calves every year, the you can keep your bull for breeding for as long as you want, or as long as he does his job, or until you want some new blood lines in your herd. However, B) if you want to keep your female calves (heifers) to use for breeding when they are old enough, then you don't want them to breed with their father. In which case, you'd get a new bull every 2-3 years to prevent inbreeding. Does that make sense?

Our first bull buying experience took place a few years ago. Clayton's grandfather, who owned the ranch, had had a stroke and was unable to take care of the cows. So a handful of us young-uns went to a bull sale in Ogden to buy us a new bull. We were pretty inexperienced, but we got the job done. We bought two fine-looking Black Angus bulls. Why two? Well, these bulls were only 18 months old, and we had about, oh 30 or 40 cows to service, so we wanted to make sure that there was enough bull to go around.

We quickly learned that our new bulls had two pretty different personalities. We trucked these two bulls from Ogden home to Tooele, and proceeded to unload them into the corrals in back of Grandma & Grandpa Sagers' house. Bull #20 (that was the number on his tag when we bought him, so that became his name) was out first, and Clayton calmly led him to the corrals with a rope halter and easily shut him into the bull pen. Bull #49, in the meantime, started thrashing around inside the trailer. He wouldn't let Clayton or Joseph near him. We figured that we could probably back the trailer right up to the corral gate, let the bull out, and then easily herd him into the bull pen. 49 had a different idea. We let him out of the trailer and he started running around, probably sick and tired of being cooped up in the rickety old rusty blue trailer. He would have none of our herding him around. He went after Joseph, Clayton's youngest brother, who was about 16 or 17 years old at the time. Joseph, determined to stand his ground, tried whacking 49 on the nose with a piece of PVC pipe to get the bull to turn around and leave him alone. Unfortunately, this made the bull even more angry, and Joseph was forced to retreat. He backed up until he bumped into the tailgate of an old truck that was in the corral. His knees buckled and he fell, rear-end first, into the bed of the truck. The bull was still coming after him, so there sat Joseph, rear-end in the bed of the truck, long skinny legs up in the air, whacking this mean angry bull in the nose with his pipe. Looking back at the situation, I am laughing just thinking about it. He looked so ridiculous. But Joseph wasn't laughing at the time and I'm not sure I would be laughing if it had been me. Anyway, 49 eventually left poor Joseph alone and we eventually got him into the bull pen.

Then there's the time that Bull #20 somehow escaped from the corrals and was wandering around the neighborhood, grazing on people's front lawns. Grandma Sagers' house is just down the street from a large park. When Joel got the call from the sheriff's dispatch telling us that the bull was loose, they told him that they had been informed that there was a wild bull running around crazy in the park. When Joel got to Grandma's house, the bull was in fact, not running around crazy in the park, but was calmly chewing on some tasty plants in an empty garden lot just two houses down from Grandma's house. By this time, a few police cars had gathered to make sure that this wild and crazy bull wasn't going to cause any trouble. Boy, were they sure surprised when Joel confidently walked right up to 20, slipped his belt off his pants and looped it around 20's neck, and then calmly led the bull back to the corrals.

That just goes to show how different in temperament two bulls can be. We sold #49 for slaughter after a few years of breeding, because after his yearly check-up, the vet informed us that one of 49's manly parts wasn't functioning correctly. And we sold #20 a year or two after that, since we had a half dozen of his daughters that we wanted to keep for breeding. We were sad to see him go, since he had been such a calm and gentle bull. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. More bull stories to come!

Sometimes things get a little crazy!

When you're working with cattle, you always have to be prepared for the unexpected. If you think you're only going to be briefly checking on the cows and then quickly returning to your nice warm home, you better make sure you've got a warm jacket and a hat, just in case you have to stay for a few hours to help deliver a calf. And if you think you're going to have a calm and quiet moment with a fresh from the womb calf, be prepared to chase it down the highway.

In February of 2010, we went out feeding on a Sunday after church. We dropped off the hay, walked through the herd, and didn't see anything amiss. So we left. As we were driving off, I spotted a dark clump in a distant corner of the field. I thought that it was probably just a large clump of manure, which it generally is, but I convinced Clayton to go check it out anyway. And I was right. It was a new calf, less than 24 hours old. Her mama was over having lunch with the rest of the ladies. This is fairly common; where the cow will leave her sleeping baby safely hidden behind a safebrush or in some tall grass, while she goes off to graze. Clayton was quietly observing her to make sure that she was warm and sound, when out of nowhere, BAM! The calf jumps to her feet and starts running like crazy in the opposite direction. She got into some really tall grass and Clayton lost sight of her.

By this time, I had left the dogs in the truck and went over to help find the baby. This particular field is divided into two sections, which are fenced off with a gate between the two sections. If we want to rest the grass in one of the sections, we'll herd the cows into the other section and close the gate. But during the winter, the gate is usually left open. This calf was in the opposite section from the rest of the herd, and we wanted to make sure that her mama could find her when her lunch was over. Instead of walking all the way up the field to go through the gate, I cut across the field on foot and shimmied underneath the barb wire fence. We walked back and forth, quietly searching for the baby in the tall grass, not wanting to spook her again. Finally, Clayton calls for me; he has spotted the calf. Unfortunately, she had chosen a poor place to huddle up. She was laying right next to the neighboring field, and was halfway underneath the wire fence. Looking back, we probably should have just left well enough alone, and left the poor thing there. Chances are that she would have been fine. But we were concerned that she might roll under the fence and go into the neighbor's field with their cattle, and since she was a newborn, we hadn't had a chance to tag her as our own. So we got behind her, requiring myself to shimmy underneath yet 2 more wire fences (did I mention that I was 7 months pregnant? I didn't? Well, I was 7 months pregnant), and attempted to quietly herd the calf back to our herd.

But of course, things don't always go as planned. We were fairly close the the rest of our herd when the calf took off running again in the wrong direction. She ran across the full length of the 100 acre field. We lost of sight of her among some bushes, but figured that we'd done enough damage, and that the baby would calm down and let her mama come and find her. So we left.

We were halfway back to Tooele, when we got a call from the sheriff's dispatch, saying that a motorist had spotted a calf along the highway close to our field. Groan. We knew that this had to be our runaway calf, so we turned back around. After slowly cruising up and down the highway, we finally found the calf curled up in a clump of grass near the road. She had run more than a mile, going through a ditch full of water and at least 2 barb wire fences before she finally stopped. The poor thing was probably exhausted and scared out of her mind. We did not want to spook her yet again and cause her to possibly run out into the road, so Clayton very slowly and cautiously crept up behind her and threw himself on top of her before she could get away. We carried her to the back of the truck, where Clayton pinned her down and held her tightly while I drove us all back to our field. Once we got back, we drove to the herd of cows and let the mama cow come and claim her calf. The mama was outraged that we had treated her baby so badly, whom she had left peacefully sleeping almost an hour ago. Well, Mama Cow, if you had taken better care of your baby in the first place, then we wouldn't have had this problem, now would we?




The innocent-looking red calf in this picture is the subject of this post, whom we affectionately nicknamed the "Little Red Devil".

Norman

Against all odds (born out in the open, it's usually freezing cold, the chance of being eaten by predators, etc), newborn calves are usually born quite healthy and are up walking and nursing within an hour. It's such a miraculous thing to witness. I have never seen a calf born naturally--meaning, the cow is on her own and I've watched her physically push her calf out of her womb by herself. But I have seen (and assisted!) several calves who were born with assistance from a human. When a calf needs to be pulled out by a human, it is usually the result of the cow's pelvis being too narrow to allow the calf to pass through easily. This is most commonly seen in cows who are calving for the first time. Never having experienced giving birth before, these new mamas are somewhat unsure of what is happening. "I've had a really bad stomach ache for a few hours and now I feel like a bowel movement is on it's way but I just can't get it out! Must have been that hay I ate this morning; it smelled questionable." Yeah, I've been there, sister. I know how ya feel.

How did we know when cows need help with delivery? Well, when you see a cow laboring on the ground (or even walking around) with two little hooves poking out of her rear end, that means a calf is on it's way. If she's been laboring for a long time and there is no progression, that's when we step in. We herd the cow into the corral and put her into the squeeze chute, which is a narrow chute that holds her head in place and limits her mobility so that she can't get away. The tools involved including a calf puller and chains. The chains are the first option. You loop a chain around each of the hooves and hook them so that they won't come off. And then . . . you pull. If the cow hasn't been in labor for too long and is still fairly lubricated, if you pull hard in time with her contractions, you might be able to pull the calf out this way. If not, you go to plan B. Plan B is the calf puller. With the chains still looped around the calf's hooves, you hook the chains up to the calf puller. It involves cranking up a handle which then ratchets the chains tighter. Basically, it's doing the grunt work of pulling the calf for you.

During the winter/spring of 2010, we had a few first time mamas who were a bit on the small side. Hence, they had a difficult time calving and we had to assist with 3 births. The first calf was pulled by Joel and Clayton. He was born alive but was barely breathing and had a very faint heartbeat. Joel attempted artifical respiration and chest compressions, but the calf died soon after he was born. The second calf was pulled by Clayton and myself; he was in a breech position and was a stillborn. The third calf, well now, that's quite a tale:

Clayton and I were out feeding and saw the mama in labor. Here we go again, I thought. Hopefully we'll be able to get this one out in time. We get her into the corral and into the squeeze. I call Joel for back-up, but it was the Friday night before Valentine's Day, and Joel was very busy at the flower shop. He sends Uncle Larry down to help out instead. In the meantime, Clayton is getting busy setting up. He strips down to his T-shirt (did I mention that it's February? It's cold--even more so when you're only wearing a T-shirt) and takes off his watch. We decide that we can't wait for Uncle Larry to arrive, so we get the chains hooked around the little hooves and start pulling. Soon we're covered in mud, manure, and muck. Still pulling. Hook the chains up to the calf puller, which I start ratcheting and Clayton keeps pulling on a separate set of chains. Eventually, the calf is born. The cow has laid down inside the squeeze chute, which I don't blame her for, (who wants to give birth while standing up?) but it makes for a pretty tight fit.

About this time, Uncle Larry shows up. I start rubbing down the calf with some hay to dry him off, and Clayton & Larry try to get the cow on her feet. She decides that she has been quite rudely mistreated, that we have done something horrible to her backside but she's not quite sure what, and that she's not ready to get up. They try to encourage her out, as the best thing for a cold newborn calf is it's mama's tongue licking it dry and her warm milk to drink, and she can't get to the calf while in the squeeze. We place the calf in front of her so she can sniff it, we try placing some hay in front of her so that she might come out to eat it, but nothing works. We humans are standing around discussing the situation, giving her some time to recover but also knowing that her calf is in desperate need of her attention. Out of nowhere, the cow leaps to her feet, jumps out of the squeeze and over the calf, and takes off running. Oh, crap. The cow is now loose in the 100 acre field and it's starting to get dark. Clayton and Larry take off after the cow, while I stay with the calf and try to keep him warm. They chase that darn cow around for 15-20 minutes, who is determined to have nothing to do with us. I can't blame her after the traumatic experience that she'd just had, but her little calf was getting mighty cold without her.

After some discussion, Clayton and Larry place the calf in the cab of the truck with the heater on full blast and cover him with blankets. I take the dogs, who have been chillin' in the truck this whole time, and we go off into the field to hang out for a while. We figured that the last thing this poor calf needs was two dogs to terrify him. Cooper, Baxter and I hunker down on a dry spot in the middle of the field. Did I mention that it was fully dark by now? And cold? I sat there for a good 15 minutes or so with no movement from the truck, thinking about coyotes and other predators who might be sneaking up behind me in the dark. Good thing I had my trusty dogs to keep me company and protect me from evil. When I could take it no more, I went back to the truck. The calf had not improved. He had made no attempts to stand, but was lying helpless. It appeared that he might be in shock, possibly on his way to a coma. The mama cow was nowhere to be found. We decided that there was nothing more we could do in the field until morning, and took the calf to Uncle Larry's house. We made a cozy little bed out of newspapers and blankets inside the greenhouse, in a corner where he would be safe for the night. We pumped several bottles of formula into his stomach, used a blow dryer to get him good and warm, and hoped that he would be alive in the morning. Clayton was fairly discouraged, and felt that our efforts had been in vain. He felt for sure that the calf would not survive. I tried to be optimistic, but knew that the calf might die despite all we had done.

First thing in the morning, Clayton drives to Uncle Larry's house, and lo and behold, the calf is still alive! He is weak and still hasn't stood up on his own, but is doing much better. Clayton hauls the calf out to the truck and drives back to the cow field. To make a long story a tiny bit shorter, eventually we get the mama cow into the corral, introduce her to her baby, and they lived happily ever after. We named the calf Norman, because we had just recently watched the scene in "City Slickers" where Billy Crystal helps deliver a calf, whom he names Norman. Norman had a rough start in life, but grew up to be healthy and strong, against all odds.

Sometimes cows die

Once upon a time, there was a newborn calf who got very sick. We took him home and put him up in the Sagers Hilton, aka our garage, so that we could take care of him. He was so sick that he wouldn't bottle feed, so we had to stick a feeding tube down his throat and squeeze the formula into his stomach. Even though we were doing him a favor, he thought we were treating him roughly and did not enjoy the situation. He did ok for a few days, and I even had a little "show and tell" where I was having a YW meeting at my house and brought the YW leaders into my garage to show off our little invalid. They all thought he was soo cute, which he was. Then, one day he started stumbling around and running into things, which was kinda funny, and by the morning, he was dead.

Now, maybe you think I'm joking around too much and not taking death very seriously. Let me assure you, we took it very seriously. It is heartbreaking to nurse a creature the best that you can and still fail. We love our cows and are anguished whenever we have one die. But looking back on it now, the only was I can talk about it without being hurt is to joke around and make light of the situation. There's my disclaimer; I'm not hardhearted.

There was one winter when we had several cows and a few calves die and we didn't know what was wrong. Each time we drove the feedtruck into the field and spotted a cold, black lifeless lump in the snow, our hearts sank. We found out later that there was a toxic burr plant growing in the field that was causing the cows to become ill and die.

My first experience with a dying calf was the first winter that we lived in Tooele, so the winter of 2005-2006. I had just learned to drive the old rusty feedtruck with it's manual stick-shift, and boy was I proud to be an important part of the feeding team as the driver of the truck. The cows were in the West field in Rush Valley. We pulled into the field, and within moments, I spotted a mama cow with her new calf. And when I say new, I mean, it hit the ground minutes or even seconds before we got there. The mama cow saw us coming with a load of delicious hay, she realized that she was really hungry, and got up and left her new calf laying on the ground. Sometimes cows who have calved for the first time don't understand what has just happened, or for whatever reason, don't bond with their calf. Luckily this is a pretty rare occurance, but unfortunately for this new calf, his mama forgot all about him. And even more unfortunate was that it was a dang cold winter day. The wind was blowing, there was snow on the ground, it was COLD. We tried herding the mama cow back towards the baby, but she was hungry and wanted nothing else but to eat some lunch with the rest of the ladies. She would have nothing to do with that calf. We decided that we needed to intervene. We carried the calf across the street into the corrals, where there was a bit of shelter from the harsh wind. We gathered whatever blankets and towels we could rummage up in the truck and tried to dry the baby off as best as we could to keep him warm. But the calf was pretty weak and despite our best efforts, was getting weaker. Joel drove out with some warm water and formula, which we tried to get him to drink. In the end, Joel bundled the calf up inside his van and drove him back to Tooele. We made a warm bed in the garage and did our best to nurse him, but ultimately he ended up dying.

I always wonder what would have happened if we had not driven the feedtruck into the field at that precise time. If we had showed up an hour or two later, maybe the mama would have stayed with her baby, warmed him up, and nursed him. Maybe not. But I always feel a small amount of guilt when I think about his death, that possibly could have been prevented if we just hadn't shown up right then.

As cattle owners, we have this awesome responsibility for the well-being of these animals. If we don't do our job, then they would most likely not survive. Sometimes even when we do our job, they end up dying. I heard somewhere that to a farmer, death of an animal is more banal than it is to other people. Not for me. Sometimes cows and calves die before their time, and it's a part of life, but a hard one.