August 5. That's when the man will come and kill Chappy so we can put her in our freezer.
I am very pleased about the meat, but I'm a little sad to kill our rotten, fat calf. It seems I'm confronted on all sides with the killing I do in order to grow my own food. (And for all you people who do not eat meat, just free yourself from the delusion that no killing was done to bring your food to the table.)
I kill potato bugs by the hundreds. I kill their larva, I crush their eggs. I kill them daily. I squash them and have their guts on my pants and glasses. I know how potato bug blood smells.
I kill cucumber beetles, stalking them in the early morning when they're sluggish and easy to catch. I kill cabbage moth caterpillars. I kill Japanese beetles and the little tan beetles that are not Japanese beetles.
I kill the spiders that build webs in my house, I encourage the cats to kill mice, I celebrate the dog's mole-killing endeavors.
And now, we're discussing which chickens to cull and when to kill the meat birds.
Really, I'm going to keep eating meat and I'm not going to let the potato beetles eat the potatoes to the ground. The Japanese beetles and tan beetles may not eat all the rose buds before they open or all the leaves from the plum trees. The cucumber beetles may not make lace of every leaf on the squash and melon plants. So, I guess I'll get back to the business of murder.
Showing posts with label Chappy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chappy. Show all posts
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
How's Violet?
We did get Violet inseminated In January, so we should have a calf right around my dear friend's birthday in October. Maybe we'll name the baby after her.
So, something funny that happened within days of the insemination is that our very exciting cow got very boring, but in a good way. From January until last week, she was easy to milk, she was reliably adjusted to our routine, she stood extremely still during milking, she gave me cues before she peed or pooped so I had more of a chance to get out of the way. Really, just the way you idealists might imagine milking a cow might be.
About two months ago, Chappy came into heat for the first time. What do you know about cows in heat? Well, if you don't want to know, skip this paragraph and maybe the next one. When in heat, cows mount other cows or they are mounted; it's called standing heat. Having a herd of only two cows means my dear, sweet little calf was mounting her mother. It means that she would nurse and then try to mount her mother. It means her mother got pretty darn tired of that nonsense and quit letting her nurse. The really fun part is that this recurs every three weeks. The last time Chappy was in heat, we took pity on Violet, and locked Chappy up for the day.
Every three weeks, Violet quits letting Chappy nurse, then after a couple of days she lets her nurse a little. We can tell when we milk whether Chappy nursed the day before. This past week, I'm not sure if she's nursed at all.
That's because our dear cows are now back on grass, and we have a new little excitement at milking time. Violet would much rather be on pasture than wait twenty more minutes while I'll milk her. We only had to force the issue one morning, but her attitude was so reminiscent of her pre-pregnancy behavior, that I'm sure glad we got her inseminated.
So, something funny that happened within days of the insemination is that our very exciting cow got very boring, but in a good way. From January until last week, she was easy to milk, she was reliably adjusted to our routine, she stood extremely still during milking, she gave me cues before she peed or pooped so I had more of a chance to get out of the way. Really, just the way you idealists might imagine milking a cow might be.
About two months ago, Chappy came into heat for the first time. What do you know about cows in heat? Well, if you don't want to know, skip this paragraph and maybe the next one. When in heat, cows mount other cows or they are mounted; it's called standing heat. Having a herd of only two cows means my dear, sweet little calf was mounting her mother. It means that she would nurse and then try to mount her mother. It means her mother got pretty darn tired of that nonsense and quit letting her nurse. The really fun part is that this recurs every three weeks. The last time Chappy was in heat, we took pity on Violet, and locked Chappy up for the day.
Every three weeks, Violet quits letting Chappy nurse, then after a couple of days she lets her nurse a little. We can tell when we milk whether Chappy nursed the day before. This past week, I'm not sure if she's nursed at all.
That's because our dear cows are now back on grass, and we have a new little excitement at milking time. Violet would much rather be on pasture than wait twenty more minutes while I'll milk her. We only had to force the issue one morning, but her attitude was so reminiscent of her pre-pregnancy behavior, that I'm sure glad we got her inseminated.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
How's that cow?
Things are pretty quiet these days, and I think we're beginning to be in the "enjoy" part of our cow relationship. Of course, we're also in the "reality striking" phase as well.
In the mornings, it is quite dark and we have to rouse dear Violet to get her chained up to milk. I guess this isn't perfect, but it's actually easier than what we were doing before. It does mean we have to get all the poo out of the barn after she's chained and before I kneel to milk. I have only been reduced to tears one morning as I pondered my poop covered knees in the faint blue glow of the LED tent light we're using in the barn right now. It was the very next morning that we began taking a flashlight with us to help find ALL the poo, even if it had straw thrown over it.
Jason guesses that milking takes me about 15 minutes now. I try not to think about time, but that's contrary to my nature, so I'm glad he's kind of keeping track. One perk is that I have strong forearms now. If you milk a cow 15 minutes every morning, your arms DO change. I will still stop in amazement when I go to scratch a mosquito bite on my arm; I have a flash of, "Is that my arm?"
Clover (known as Chappy to the over 30 set in our house) is getting friendlier. This is nice because that makes us feel more confident that we can handle an emergency should one arise. On the other hand, it will make killing her more difficult. And we are beefing her in the summer or fall of 2012.
Violet understands our routine now and is much easier to handle as she finds us less inscrutable. She walks fairly placidly to her pasture in the morning and fairly trots to the barn in the evening. The pasture is already better, and she grazes happily most of the morning and the early evening. She eats all her hay in the night when she has only limited access to pasture she does not really like. It turns out that cows will mostly not eat the grass in the lanes, the pathways that we use to move them from place to another. And her lane is all that's available at night because she wants to be able to be close to her calf who is locked in a pen in the barn.
We figured out that if we do not let the calf nurse before we walk them to their new pasture in the mornings, Chappy follows along very closely. This makes the morning operation MUCH smoother. Also, Chappy is quite clear on "What we do in the evening", so she makes for the barn and her pen in the evening with an ease we never would have predicted. It's nice to have our routine supporting us.
Right now, Violet is grazing just outside the back door again, and I like glancing up to see her there. She looks hopefully at us if we walk out. Jason has been bringing soft melons and overgrown squashes from work, and Violet thinks we're especially nice if we show up with one for her. I think we're all beginning to enjoy one another.
In the mornings, it is quite dark and we have to rouse dear Violet to get her chained up to milk. I guess this isn't perfect, but it's actually easier than what we were doing before. It does mean we have to get all the poo out of the barn after she's chained and before I kneel to milk. I have only been reduced to tears one morning as I pondered my poop covered knees in the faint blue glow of the LED tent light we're using in the barn right now. It was the very next morning that we began taking a flashlight with us to help find ALL the poo, even if it had straw thrown over it.
Jason guesses that milking takes me about 15 minutes now. I try not to think about time, but that's contrary to my nature, so I'm glad he's kind of keeping track. One perk is that I have strong forearms now. If you milk a cow 15 minutes every morning, your arms DO change. I will still stop in amazement when I go to scratch a mosquito bite on my arm; I have a flash of, "Is that my arm?"
Clover (known as Chappy to the over 30 set in our house) is getting friendlier. This is nice because that makes us feel more confident that we can handle an emergency should one arise. On the other hand, it will make killing her more difficult. And we are beefing her in the summer or fall of 2012.
Violet understands our routine now and is much easier to handle as she finds us less inscrutable. She walks fairly placidly to her pasture in the morning and fairly trots to the barn in the evening. The pasture is already better, and she grazes happily most of the morning and the early evening. She eats all her hay in the night when she has only limited access to pasture she does not really like. It turns out that cows will mostly not eat the grass in the lanes, the pathways that we use to move them from place to another. And her lane is all that's available at night because she wants to be able to be close to her calf who is locked in a pen in the barn.
We figured out that if we do not let the calf nurse before we walk them to their new pasture in the mornings, Chappy follows along very closely. This makes the morning operation MUCH smoother. Also, Chappy is quite clear on "What we do in the evening", so she makes for the barn and her pen in the evening with an ease we never would have predicted. It's nice to have our routine supporting us.
Right now, Violet is grazing just outside the back door again, and I like glancing up to see her there. She looks hopefully at us if we walk out. Jason has been bringing soft melons and overgrown squashes from work, and Violet thinks we're especially nice if we show up with one for her. I think we're all beginning to enjoy one another.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Milking Curve part 1
I would love to have pictures of what I'm writing about, but my hands are quite busy as I milk, so I hope your imagination is handy.
Early every morning, I get up, and a few minutes later Jason gets up. We put on dirty clothes and I make sure my hands are clean. I get a tub of warm water with a squirt of soap in it and the milk bucket. Jason grabs two carrots and as of today, the essential oil stuff to discourage flies. We put on shoes and wander down the driveway. We hope and wish that Violet will have Clover in the barn.
When we get to the field, we quickly scan for the cows, and if we don't see them, we make a mad dash through the gate, while trying to appear very calm and collected, and we lock Violet and Clover in the barn. That would be a good time for a happy dance.
What usually happens is we see Violet contentedly grazing with Clover acting up her calf-ness to the fullest. It's really adorable as she scampers and hightails her way around the pasture or rubs her head determinedly against anything (I guess new horns itch). We watch her for a minute, though not exactly in admiration. We are quietly and calmly making a plan for getting this rambunctious thing into the barn so her mother will stand placidly to be milked. I'll tell you something, Violet sure knows how to be un-placid.
This is the point in the morning when I'm glad there's no video camera. Jason pulls a carrot from his pocket and Violet pretty much follows him like a trained dog, or cow. Clover walks sweetly beside her mother right until her third or fourth rib is into the barn and then she makes a mad dash to scamper around the field again. Violet doesn't seem to mind for about ten seconds and then she turns around and walks halfway out of the barn. She gives a solicitous moo toward her offspring and Clover seems again like she's headed for the barn, but just as she reaches it, she cuts right and turns and careers around the pasture again.
Maybe we should laugh at this point, but at barely 6:00 am, it is not actually all that funny to be standing beside an anxious bovine mother.
Violet scampers after her child at some point. We scamper and wave sticks to try turn the wild thing back toward the barn. We stand still and see if she'll listen to her mother. We urge her mother back toward the barn hoping Clover will follow. And eventually, she does. We know there has to be a better way, but we don't know it yet.
Early every morning, I get up, and a few minutes later Jason gets up. We put on dirty clothes and I make sure my hands are clean. I get a tub of warm water with a squirt of soap in it and the milk bucket. Jason grabs two carrots and as of today, the essential oil stuff to discourage flies. We put on shoes and wander down the driveway. We hope and wish that Violet will have Clover in the barn.
When we get to the field, we quickly scan for the cows, and if we don't see them, we make a mad dash through the gate, while trying to appear very calm and collected, and we lock Violet and Clover in the barn. That would be a good time for a happy dance.
What usually happens is we see Violet contentedly grazing with Clover acting up her calf-ness to the fullest. It's really adorable as she scampers and hightails her way around the pasture or rubs her head determinedly against anything (I guess new horns itch). We watch her for a minute, though not exactly in admiration. We are quietly and calmly making a plan for getting this rambunctious thing into the barn so her mother will stand placidly to be milked. I'll tell you something, Violet sure knows how to be un-placid.
This is the point in the morning when I'm glad there's no video camera. Jason pulls a carrot from his pocket and Violet pretty much follows him like a trained dog, or cow. Clover walks sweetly beside her mother right until her third or fourth rib is into the barn and then she makes a mad dash to scamper around the field again. Violet doesn't seem to mind for about ten seconds and then she turns around and walks halfway out of the barn. She gives a solicitous moo toward her offspring and Clover seems again like she's headed for the barn, but just as she reaches it, she cuts right and turns and careers around the pasture again.
Maybe we should laugh at this point, but at barely 6:00 am, it is not actually all that funny to be standing beside an anxious bovine mother.
Violet scampers after her child at some point. We scamper and wave sticks to try turn the wild thing back toward the barn. We stand still and see if she'll listen to her mother. We urge her mother back toward the barn hoping Clover will follow. And eventually, she does. We know there has to be a better way, but we don't know it yet.
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