Losing a Cow

Maybe it's the long cold days of winter that seem to drag you down after awhile, or the ever shrinking milk check as you struggle to pay the bills that continually seem to mount.  Maybe it's just the culmination of many things that eventually pull  you down into a funk that only begins to slowly be stripped away as the days lengthen and the warmth strengthens.

But losing a cow just pulls you down by the seat of the pants and makes one wonder "what am I doing?", "why does this have to happen to us?"  We once had a relative tell us, one who had been milking cows for over 30 years, that no matter how well you fed  your cows, took care of your cows, vetted, vaccinated, bedded or pastured your cows, they always found a new way to die on you.  Just about the time you thought you had every conceiveable disease covered with a vaccination, a magnet down them for hardware, better nutritionally balanced meals than your own family, that something new, something unusual would always creep up and catch you from behind.  Well, that's what happened this week.

We have always prided ourselves in how well we take care of our girls.  We make sure that they are clean, well-fed, and provided lots of green pasture when the season permits.  But just a couple of days ago, we had a herd health scheduled with the vet and had him take a quick look at a cow that seemed a little "off".  We had hoped that at worst, it would be a DA (twisted stomach) and a simple, (but quite expensive) surgery could remedy the problem.  Once checking her over, we could tell the the look on his face that something was seriously wrong.  When your vet asks if you've put your meat grinder away yet from deer season, you know that it's serious.  Our young cow, one that was due to be dried off the following day with a March calf in her, had ruptured her cecum (similar to an appendix) and was bleeding to death internally.  There was nothing we could do but lead her out the door, drop her with a bullet and prep her for the freezer.  Her calf wasn't far enough along to be able to save, but she was a fine heifer calf indeed.

Losing a 400 pound heifer calf last night didn't help things either.  It seems like when it rains, it pours.  Really pours.

One minute she's munching her hay and grain, the next she's on her side bellowing and thrashing in pain.  Her stomach immediately swelled up and she was like a baloon ready to pop.  While wrestling with her in the pen, trying to get the tube down her throat to alleviate the pressure, she suffocated and died in my arms.  All I could do was sit there in the straw and bawl.  What else can you do?

Yes, this blog is here to not only express the joys of farming, but to also give a window into the reality of farming.  You try SO hard to care for your land and animals, pay the bills on an ever shrinking share of the food dollar, and yet there are so many things that continually work against you.  It's still a great way of life, but Oh, can these times ever pull you down.