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.