I don't know what to title this one yet--I had to kill a calf today. But let me start at the beginning.
Today I took a paid vacation day and stayed home from Weber--Yeah! I slept late and everything. But once I did get up I was busy all day. The morning was spent doing chores around the house--doing laundry, scrubbing the bathtub, vacuuming the floors--stuff like that. I went to the bank and the pharmacy, too.
Dad called at 11:10 to say it was time! I finished my errands, picked up some burgers from the D.I., and headed to the farm. After we ate lunch, Dad and Mel and I proceeded to lot and sort cows. We loaded 7 weaner calves and Dad & Mel hauled them to the sale barn. Meanwhile, I was supposed to take a bottle of milk-replacer out to a baby calf that was born yesterday, because something was wrong with him and he couldn't get up and nurse from his momma. I got in Dad's pickup and drove out to him. The poor thing was lying all alone in the muddy pasture (his mom was grazing in the north field with the rest of the herd). My heart broke when I saw him. He couldn't even sit up on his own, so Dad had tried propping him up against a small tire. Large animals, such as horses and cows, cannot live for very long when they lie flat, so Dad had the right idea, but it wasn't working very well. I didn't know what to do; things looked so bad. I cleaned some mud off his tongue and petted him gently. He felt warm on his side from the sun, but the rest of him was so icy cold. He had no circulation in his limbs because he couldn't move. He couldn't even raise his head, though he did try once. He had eaten, while lying down, the day before for Dad, and his bowls had moved, so that was all working, but he had never been on his feet, and that was not good. His eyes were glazed, his breathing labored. I was beside myself, trying to think what to do. Knowing I would have to pick him up but not really wanting to, because he was so lifeless, so cold, and so nasty, lying in the mud and in his own waste and all. Then, I saw the sun glint off the tears in his eyes, and my heart broke again. I gathered the baby calf in my arms and loaded him into the back of Dad's pickup. I drove to the yard and parked in front of the Big Chicken House, thinking that would be the warmest place for him. But I didn't get out. I sat in the pickup and waited for Mel and Dad to get home from the sale barn. When they drove up, I got out and went to talk to Dad about the calf. I told him the calf was near death and that maybe he should be shot. I said, "I'll do it if you want me to." He asked, "Do you have a gun?" And I answered, "I have one, but not with me." So he said, "There's a gun in the entryway closet; the bullets are in the hutch. It's an over/under, so put the bullet in the top part. Take him down to the horses. I have to go tend to that cow". And he turned and walked away. He and Mel were going to run this cow in the chute and look at its bad eye, and doctor it. I went in and found the gun and the bullets. I was not familiar with the gun but it looked fairly simple. As I drove the calf down to the Bottom Pasture, I was thinking, "I wonder if Dad even knows that I have never done this (sort of thing) before?" But I would do it for him, because I knew it would kill him to have to do it. I kept repeating to myself, "I can do this; I am a Farm-Girl; I can do this". I took the calf to where the horses were, because in that pasture is where the bone-yard is; where all the dead things are taken; where the coyotes and buzzards come. I was lucky--the horses didn't recognize me in my dad's pickup, so they didn't come running when I drove past them. It would not have been good to have 4 horses crowding around at such a time. I pulled up next to the creek, and close to more bones than I would like to think about, and I unloaded the baby calf as gently as possible. I was sobbing, and calling on God to help me. And I'm sitting here now, just thinking about the sight, and I'm not going to say any more.
I stopped to check on the horses on the way home, and saw that Lucky had some baling twine caught on a hind foot, and I got that off. Otherwise, they looked fine.
When I got back to the house, Dad was just going out to feed hay, and Mel had gone home to work on his roof some more. I know it sounds really lousy, but I know my dad, and I know why he said it...But as I drove up he stood still and waited for me, and when I got out, he said, "Murderer!" And I said, "Yes, it's done". He said, "It was probably for the best".
He went out to feed and I went in to put the gun away. I reached in the frige to get a soda, then took out a beer instead. I got my things out of my Big Red 1-Ton and went to get into Dad's 1-Ton, so I could take the trailer to town to wash it at the carwash. But I stood there and lit a cigarette first, then dad drove past with the tractor and a round bale, and, I dunno...I just got in and drove off.
It cost $7.00 to wash the stock trailer out, after having 7 weaner calves hauled in it. When I was done I took it home and unhooked it in the line, then put the truck back in its usual spot beside the Little Chicken House. By now I am very, very dirty.
I said my good-byes to Dad and drove my Big Red up to Mel's house, where he had a receipt for me to give to Jeff--The Artic Cat paid-in-full. Then he climbed back on his roof and I came back to town.
Drats! I'd forgotten to get some hay for the doghouses while I was at the farm. So I left voicemail for Nancy and I went to Granny's and got some prairie hay, and I brought it home and stuffed it into the 2 doghouses (for Floyd and for Big B.). Even MORE dirty, now!
Threw all my clothes in the washer then hopped in the tub, then Bob and Sarah were both home soon after...I paid some bills and now it's bedtime--past bedtime. What a day.
Today I took a paid vacation day and stayed home from Weber--Yeah! I slept late and everything. But once I did get up I was busy all day. The morning was spent doing chores around the house--doing laundry, scrubbing the bathtub, vacuuming the floors--stuff like that. I went to the bank and the pharmacy, too.
Dad called at 11:10 to say it was time! I finished my errands, picked up some burgers from the D.I., and headed to the farm. After we ate lunch, Dad and Mel and I proceeded to lot and sort cows. We loaded 7 weaner calves and Dad & Mel hauled them to the sale barn. Meanwhile, I was supposed to take a bottle of milk-replacer out to a baby calf that was born yesterday, because something was wrong with him and he couldn't get up and nurse from his momma. I got in Dad's pickup and drove out to him. The poor thing was lying all alone in the muddy pasture (his mom was grazing in the north field with the rest of the herd). My heart broke when I saw him. He couldn't even sit up on his own, so Dad had tried propping him up against a small tire. Large animals, such as horses and cows, cannot live for very long when they lie flat, so Dad had the right idea, but it wasn't working very well. I didn't know what to do; things looked so bad. I cleaned some mud off his tongue and petted him gently. He felt warm on his side from the sun, but the rest of him was so icy cold. He had no circulation in his limbs because he couldn't move. He couldn't even raise his head, though he did try once. He had eaten, while lying down, the day before for Dad, and his bowls had moved, so that was all working, but he had never been on his feet, and that was not good. His eyes were glazed, his breathing labored. I was beside myself, trying to think what to do. Knowing I would have to pick him up but not really wanting to, because he was so lifeless, so cold, and so nasty, lying in the mud and in his own waste and all. Then, I saw the sun glint off the tears in his eyes, and my heart broke again. I gathered the baby calf in my arms and loaded him into the back of Dad's pickup. I drove to the yard and parked in front of the Big Chicken House, thinking that would be the warmest place for him. But I didn't get out. I sat in the pickup and waited for Mel and Dad to get home from the sale barn. When they drove up, I got out and went to talk to Dad about the calf. I told him the calf was near death and that maybe he should be shot. I said, "I'll do it if you want me to." He asked, "Do you have a gun?" And I answered, "I have one, but not with me." So he said, "There's a gun in the entryway closet; the bullets are in the hutch. It's an over/under, so put the bullet in the top part. Take him down to the horses. I have to go tend to that cow". And he turned and walked away. He and Mel were going to run this cow in the chute and look at its bad eye, and doctor it. I went in and found the gun and the bullets. I was not familiar with the gun but it looked fairly simple. As I drove the calf down to the Bottom Pasture, I was thinking, "I wonder if Dad even knows that I have never done this (sort of thing) before?" But I would do it for him, because I knew it would kill him to have to do it. I kept repeating to myself, "I can do this; I am a Farm-Girl; I can do this". I took the calf to where the horses were, because in that pasture is where the bone-yard is; where all the dead things are taken; where the coyotes and buzzards come. I was lucky--the horses didn't recognize me in my dad's pickup, so they didn't come running when I drove past them. It would not have been good to have 4 horses crowding around at such a time. I pulled up next to the creek, and close to more bones than I would like to think about, and I unloaded the baby calf as gently as possible. I was sobbing, and calling on God to help me. And I'm sitting here now, just thinking about the sight, and I'm not going to say any more.
I stopped to check on the horses on the way home, and saw that Lucky had some baling twine caught on a hind foot, and I got that off. Otherwise, they looked fine.
When I got back to the house, Dad was just going out to feed hay, and Mel had gone home to work on his roof some more. I know it sounds really lousy, but I know my dad, and I know why he said it...But as I drove up he stood still and waited for me, and when I got out, he said, "Murderer!" And I said, "Yes, it's done". He said, "It was probably for the best".
He went out to feed and I went in to put the gun away. I reached in the frige to get a soda, then took out a beer instead. I got my things out of my Big Red 1-Ton and went to get into Dad's 1-Ton, so I could take the trailer to town to wash it at the carwash. But I stood there and lit a cigarette first, then dad drove past with the tractor and a round bale, and, I dunno...I just got in and drove off.
It cost $7.00 to wash the stock trailer out, after having 7 weaner calves hauled in it. When I was done I took it home and unhooked it in the line, then put the truck back in its usual spot beside the Little Chicken House. By now I am very, very dirty.
I said my good-byes to Dad and drove my Big Red up to Mel's house, where he had a receipt for me to give to Jeff--The Artic Cat paid-in-full. Then he climbed back on his roof and I came back to town.
Drats! I'd forgotten to get some hay for the doghouses while I was at the farm. So I left voicemail for Nancy and I went to Granny's and got some prairie hay, and I brought it home and stuffed it into the 2 doghouses (for Floyd and for Big B.). Even MORE dirty, now!
Threw all my clothes in the washer then hopped in the tub, then Bob and Sarah were both home soon after...I paid some bills and now it's bedtime--past bedtime. What a day.
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