This is for urban folks who drive along Sandhill highways and admire new calves frolicking in the pastures, or sunning themselves, while a mama or two babysits. They‘re so cute— you think how nice it would be to live on a ranch and watch spring arrive. Here’s the back story from folks who live the reality.
The first signs of labor appear at the late check, so you’ll sit up a couple of hours and hope you don’t have to put her in the pen and get out the OB gloves, or call the vet at midnight- thirty to say you’re hooking up the trailer to bring him a couple of hours of work. Most times, all is well; other times, you reach in to help with the delivery and find just a nose; no front feet. Meaning you have to find those feet and bring them in line with the nose so nature can proceed. Or you find two hind feet. Meaning assistance will likely be required. Front feet, but no nose, is bad news. You need to turn that head so it lines up, while nature’s trying to help, so your arm gets squeezed and hands go numb. If mama lies down, and won’t stand up, you’ll be prone on frozen or wet ground with your upper body half undressed, while this takes place.
With the calf outside, you tickle its nose and clear the sack off so it can breathe. If the process of arrival was especially difficult, the calf won’t be excited about breathing, so you rub it all over, hang it up by the back legs to drain any fluids, and perhaps give mouth to mouth. If mama refuses to acknowledge the youngster, you’ll have to restrain her and teach the newbie where breakfast is. If she doesn’t dry him off, that’ll become your job too. Alternatively, she may be too good a mama and put you over the fence, if you’re nimble enough to reach said fence. If the calf is too small, the weather too cold, or the mama uncooperative, you haul him to the house for a few hours, which means that ma may have lost all interest when the reunion happens. If all this takes place during a blizzard, you have no certainty that man or beast will survive. When it all goes south, you drag another one out back to the dead pile and try not to tear up.
When the youngster is able to travel, it’s time to pair out. Too many pairs in a lot means trouble. Most ranches tag calves with a number matching that of the mother, but that doesn’t guarantee that bonding takes place, or that a cow who has yet to give birth won’t decide she already did, and try to steal one. Pairing out on a warm spring day, accompanied by blackbird music, is good work, when everybody matches up and finds the gate. But, if it’s windy, your horse will want to buck, cows won’t mother up, or one gets in a hurry and leaves without her babe, so you’ll have to bring her back, hurry those wobbly legs along, or throw him over your saddle and take him to her. Mothers often place the calf in a spot that’s the same color as he is, or hide him behind a soapweed. The youngsters stay put where mom said. More than once, my horse has almost stepped on one while I was looking for a number to match up. But don’t make him get up; he may run scared and never find ma before the coyotes find him.
Still, on that sunny spring day when they’re all dozing or playing tag, we kind of forget all that and, yes, it’s nice to be ranching.
Meet me here next week and, meanwhile, do your best. Somebody might like it.