When we saw her lying flat out from a distance, we hoped that she was just in the midst of calving. She was, too, only the calf wasn’t coming out the right way. Instead of seemingly diving out into the big world, toes first and nose second, the calf had his legs crossed underneath him. We must have missed him by moments because, although he did not stir, his tongue was still pink, wide eyes still glossy.
I called for Wayne straight away because I’m simply not strong enough to deal with something like this on my own. I decided to leave her lying down – Wayne was already on his way and I reckoned access to the big milk vein that runs under the cow might be a good idea, just in case.
While we were waiting, something very touching happened. Watch and see for yourself.
As soon as the calf was out, she sat up bright and feisty – tossing her head defiantly at Wayne as he tried to give her a friendly scratch. We chatted happily as we gave her two bags of glucose, calcium and minerals to help her recover. We’d saved her. The kids and I returned with a bucket of water in a rubber tyre and feed, which she gobbled up greedily.
But that night, she still wasn’t up and wouldn’t get up despite our urgings. We brought the tractor and lifted her to her feet to maximise her circulation and encourage her to take a few steps. She wouldn’t.
Next morning, her ears drooped a little and she seemed to enjoy a scratch. She was eating but refused to drink the water the kids and I had carted from the paddock trough. Now we knew she was in trouble. So-called “downer cows” that go downhill and aren’t up in 48 hours rarely recover. Still, we gave her some more medicine and lifted her again with the tractor but she simply seemed to hang limply from the hip clamp and chest strap.
During the next few visits that day, we could see she had lost the will to live. There was no fight left and even little Alex could see she wasn’t going to make it. We shifted the other cows from the paddock and, while the kids and I rounded up the milkers for the evening milking, Wayne ended her suffering.
This is the ugly side of dairy farming that you don’t see in the ads. It’s the part that farmers hate, too.
5 thoughts on “The hardest part of being a dairy farmer”
So sad Marian but thanks for the post.
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Very sad but it is life – at least you are a very empathetic and caring owner of animals Marian. You are stronger than I could be as well! Good on you. Did the calf make it?
Thanks Kaye. No, the calf had died just before we got there, sadly.
Thanks Marian, a lovely story, however sad.
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Poor Darling. A malpresented calf, stuck for some time, likely affected the nerves to her legs. I only keep a couple of house cows but they are wonderful creatures and their behaviour much more complex and fascinating that most folks think. Cows ain’t stupid.