Cow update

The cows are looking good as we pass the halfway mark of summer. Our pasture has held out better each year, and this year, Violet is still eating almost entirely pasture with just a little hay when she nurses the calves.

Nick and Nora are growing well, and we've decided to take Nora through the winter as a companion for Violet. We'll keep Nick probably until November or so depending on how cow management is going once the pasture does give out. Nora is very sweet, and we've decided to breed Violet back to Jersey again. We are wondering if the Jersey temperament is better than brown swiss.

 Nick is the one on the left. Steers grow faster than heifers. But compare them all to this:

Calf's Hoof to the Mouth

No loose teeth, a little swelling, a little bruising.

Banding the Calf

Perhaps you remember that when I banded Gusto, I did not manage to get his testicles. So, he was still a bull just minus his scrotum. This caused a few problems. He was not easy to manage, not that calves are supposed to be "easy", but he really got more threatening as he got bigger. He also broke lots of fence. When he got to the point that I felt uncomfortable asking the children to give the cows water, we knew it was time to kill him.

We wanted to be sure Nick was actually a steer at the end of the banding process. After asking around, one of our neighbors agreed to assist in the process. His only stipulations were that one of us had to do the actual banding so that we would feel sure of ourselves with the next bull calf and that we get a collar on Nick.

This week the calves are just shy of two months old, so we called our neighbor and Nick is banded. It was delightfully easy. First, Nick and Nora are the friendliest calves we have dealt with, so it was not that hard to get a collar on him. Second, Nick is much smaller than Gusto was. As our neighbor put it, "Violet is sucking two calves," so all three of them are lacking in condition. Third, our pen situation makes separating the calves pretty straightforward.

So, at chore time, we pushed both calves into the barn, but we only let Nick into the calf stall. Then, Jason got hold of Nick's collar and backed him into a corner and against a wall. Our neighbor had prepped the tool. The bander is kind of like the tools they use to put rubber bands on lobster claws; it uses very small bands but stretches them quite wide. So, when you squeeze the handles, it's relatively easy to slip the calf's scrotum into the band. Once this was done, our neighbor showed me how to check that both testicles were in the band. Then he showed how you pull the tool down from the belly just a bit so that there is a little more flesh when everything is healed. He was showing me all of this through a shower of calf diarrhea, as Nick was so upset by all this he completely covered my arms and hands in manure.

We let Nick go, let Nora into the calf stall, and got ourselves cleaned up. In awhile, the scrotum and testicles will fall off, and we'll have a steer.

Separating the Calves

Last weekend, we decided we would start separating the calves. The "calf stall" has been turned into a brooder coop, but it can still work to hold calves who are pretty small. The convenience of separating the calves beckoned with each milking. First, it means fewer bodies moving around during milking and no one trying to nurse while I'm milking. We also switched to milking once a day, and that is what ultimately led to our locking the calves up overnight.

What happened is that we went from getting 3/4 of a gallon per milking to a quart or less. This is fine. It means the calves were able to take all the milk that Violet makes. The bargain between us and the cows is that we take some of that milk, even if they COULD drink it all. In a dairy, my understanding is that calves get about 1.5 gallons a day. When we weaned Gusto last year, we were getting 4 gallons a day, so I feel pretty comfortable taking more than a quart of milk. A quart of milk feels like a waste of time.

We're getting calmer each time we're faced with this challenging cow situations, and I feel pleased with how easily we've gotten everyone in the routine of being separated. Around 7:00 pm, we go down and gently cut the calves from Violet, pushing her away from the shed and trapping them in the shed. Then, we open the stall, guide them in, lock the door, and let Violet into the shed. It's been remarkably easy. I'm wondering if the calves are cooperating more because there are two of them, but no one has seemed as stressed by the separation as the previous calves have been. In the morning, we do our milking chores, and I do not at all strip Violet's udder, leaving milk for the calves. When I'm done milking, we let the calves out of the stall and they spend the day with their mother, munching hay and nursing.

My only concern is everyone's condition. The calves look skinnier to me than our other two calves, but they are 3/4 Jersey, and the other two were 1/2 Brown Swiss. Also, they started out smaller. They look plenty vigorous and are obviously growing, so I'm not worried about them, just aware. Violet is looking less full-bodied than usual, but still rounder than other Jerseys I've met. It's kind of hard, because dairy cows ARE actually bony-hipped and such. I'm staying attuned to her condition. At the moment, she looks much better than she did the first week after the calves were born, but her hips look less fleshy. Before, I would have told you that she had more flesh than a dairy cow cow often has, so I'm still not sure it matters. I figure if she does not continue to lose fleshiness then we're fine. If she keeps looking less and less good, then we might have to separate the calves a bit more to give her body a break, or maybe we'll wean them earlier.

Violet weaned Chappy at 13 months, and we weaned Gusto at 5 months. We know how to do it, and it has its own difficulties and benefits. For now, we'll just stay aware.

How We Handle Calves

First, let me say that this is only the third time either of us have had to deal with newborn calves. Still, the same thoughts influence us each time. Violet is so interested in her calves that it would feel cruel to separate them right away, or even a few days in. This particular post will be about what has happened between us and these two calves in their first couple of days of life.

We tried not to intervene yesterday morning, so besides moving them into the barn, we did not handle them until we felt we really needed to. Then we did that work quickly, but trying not to hurry or startle anyone, and got Violet back with her calves. We went down and watched her and the calves at least once an hour all day long, but only once after evening chores.

During evening chores, we did our best to keep the calves close to Violet. She is much calmer already this time than the first two times we had calves, but she still does not want one of us between her and a calf. The boy nursed while I was milking last night, and I am eager for them to get as much milk as possible. I gave up any teat he was trying to latch onto. He sucked my jacket and wrist and checked here and there to see if I was hiding a teat anywhere. (Perhaps, I smelled a bit too much like Violet and the calves.) I did what I could to get most of the milk, as the calves will not eat as much at first, and Violet's bag looked huge and uncomfortable. Yet, I left some for the one still nursing.

This morning, the heifer was outside the barn, lying in the snow and ice. There are many problems with this. First, she could get quite cold. Second, if she got startled, even a wobbly little calf can cover a surprising distance in surprisingly little time; she was more likely to run away than toward her mom out of the barn than in the barn. Third, Violet was not happy to have her out of reach. Fourth, she's so little. We put up a third spring gate, and before too long, we purchased a cow panel and rigged it across the opening. We REALLY do not want a calf wandering around.

The cow panel also means we could easily lean some old plywood across the opening to block some of the wind. We're having a spell a winter, and it seems just a little more shelter would be good for these scrawny beasts. Mostly, we try to keep everyone outside as much as possible. Since these two were born at an inclement time of year, we're having to figure out just how much extra we need to do to help Violet keep them healthy. We also bought straw to use for bedding instead of old hay. Straw is expensive and most likely has round up in it, but it makes amazing bedding. We really want these guys to stay dry, so we're spreading straw twice a day.

This morning's milking was difficult, but peaceful. The girl calf nursed while I was milking, but she wanted to do it from the same side I was sitting on. I repeat- these two calves are quite scrawny and I was not feeling that my desire to milk outweighed her need to nurse. So, I worked around her. It was annoying and funny and I probably won't let that happen again.

This evening, the boy frolicked about the barn and the girl nursed while I milked. The cow panel meant no one was slipping out of the barn, and everyone was really calm. Calm is what we're after when dealing with cows. Calm is part of the reason we don't separate them at all at first. In a few days, Violet will mellow out some. With these two, we'll probably give them longer than the previous calves before we separate them for even part of the day. It is cold and it will be cold, at least in spells, for another month or so. They're pretty good size, but I want them to have some fat on them before they start spending nights with a fence between them and their mother. My heart tells me it's the right thing to do.

And at some point, it will be too much of a bother. Then, we'll re-evaluate, and most likely, we'll start separating them overnight and milk just once a day in the mornings. We'll just have to wait and see.

TWINS!

This morning when we got down to the pasture to do chores, Violet was making the special sound she makes when she's talking to a calf. Sure enough there it was just under Violet's nose, on the ice in the pasture instead of in the barn. We quickly put fresh bedding in the barn and went to grab the obviously newly born calf. Except, it had already moved about 10 feet. Except that Violet was still standing where we had first seen the calf, talking. Nope- two calves, one looking pretty normal, one not so good.

I kept Violet at bay while Jason carried each into the barn, and then Violet eagerly joined them. The one still looked VERY bad to my eye. I ran to the house to call our friends who know at least a little (probably a lot) more than we do, but we were quite reluctant to intervene much because Violet is a very good mother and quite adamant about her calves. After the consultation, we thought we would try to at least rub the rough looking one dry. Violet reacted violently, and we regretfully left, letting nature take its course.

The next two hours pretty much sucked.

Then, we asked our friends to come over and help us get Violet out of the barn so we could get a better look at both calves, as now the worse looking one was perking up, but neither had walked or nursed. Our friends brought over colostrum and an extra bottle. We used a little grain to urge Violet out of the barn, and set to work.

One is a boy, one is a girl. They look pretty scrawny, but actually not too bad now. Pictures later...

We rubbed them dry, gave them each a bottle, got them on their feet, and got out of the barn so Violet could come back in. Both calves have nursed some today, but Violet is so engorged they're having a little trouble latching. We'll milk her this evening- that should be exciting! We'll give them each another bottle of colostrum and hope for the best.

They look so frail. It's going to be below freezing for the next week.

Last bit of info- because they are heifer/bull twins, there is a greater than 90% chance that the girl will be sterile. And that sucks, too.

Eating with Gusto

Last November, Violet had a little bull calf. He was much prettier than Chappy, aka Clover, ever was. He was also less shy of people. Still, the fate of male calves in a setup like ours is pretty much the same- he was table bound.

Gusto was quite different from Chappy. He would nurse when I was milking, for example, which seemed pretty great at first. Violet would let down her milk much more vigorously than when I was just milking. Also, he wasn't taking even half the milk, so we had plenty. As he got bigger, he took more of the milk, and we did begin separating him the same way we had done Chappy. He was also harder on Violet than Chappy had been; her teats kept getting little scrapes and cuts from his nursing. Finally, we decided to wean him.

What we learned at that point is that Violet is a much easier milk cow when she does not have a nursing calf. She relaxes more, and milking is a pleasanter task. We got a surprising amount of milk once we weaned the calf and more cream. There are definite advantages to weaning a calf instead of waiting for Violet to do it.

Another thing I learned from Gusto is that banding a calf requires a little more focus on the task at hand. It seems that even though I banded him, I still had a little bull calf. This was not much of a problem until he got to be about ten months old and wanted very much for Jason to stay clear of the pasture. The braggadocio of a bull calf is comical until you remember that he outweighs you by a few hundred pounds.

That means we now have beef in the freezer and this on the stove. Because we now own a pressure canner, it makes sense to get the bones all turned into broth and out of the freezer. I'm giddy! Even my canning book calls broth a convenience food.

I'll simmer these for a couple of days, then can them in pint jars, and I'll have a beautiful ingredient for pretty much any sauce or soup.

This also all means Violet is alone again. I really want her to have another cow all the time, but at the moment, we cannot make that happen. The good news is that she did not exhibit as much stress as she did when we killed Chappy. Her next calf is due in April, and if that one is a heifer, we'll keep her to train into a milk cow.

Chappy's Dead

There are no pictures.

So, the fellow came and we were gathering the materials, and I went to put the dogs in the house to keep them out of the way. And there was a shot. Just one.

When I made it to the house, Sylvie was standing by the front door; she asked, "Is Chappy dead?" After I said yes, she asked, "Aren't you excited?"

And I guess I am a little excited that our freezer will be full of meat that we raised right here. I do like having cuts of meat that I would never buy. I like feeling like we have an endless supply of one of my favorite instant foods- ground beef.

I'm also a little sad. But that wasn't going to get the job done today.

I saw how big a heifer's stomach is relative to her body. In my head, roughly half of my torso has intestines curled back and forth filling the cavity. In a chicken, I know there is a surprising amount of intestine in such a little body. Now, imagine if you will a cow, big squarish torso. Now fill at least half of that enormous cavity with stomach. It was amazing.

Also, a cow's liver is an unbelievable size; it must weigh between 15 and 20 pounds.

I got to watch how to dress a cow before taking it to be hung. The meat will hang for about 2 weeks in a refrigerated locker, then it will be cut up and ready for our freezer.

Finally, I will say that Violet is very disturbed. Maybe I am projecting, but I don't think so. She's sad. Her face is covered in tears. And I'm sorry for my part in the food chain, but not sorry enough to quit eating meat. I do not feel any remorse for killing Chappy; it was quickly done after a very pleasant, uneventful life. I do wish there was a way to make it easier on Violet.

Execution Date Is Set

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.

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.

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.