Author: amateurcowwhisperer

Awaking on New Years Day 2014 with a light snow cascading down from the sky and the air fresh and clean seemed a good sign to start the new year off. After partying hard on non-alcoholic sparking apple cider, homemade pizza, and a rousing game of monopoly to keep us in lively spirits until midnight the girls and I decided to sleep in an extra hour and a half before heading out to the barnyard to do morning chores. We geared up well as with the snow falling on already a good foot of snow and freezing temperatures it was anticipated it would be an hour or so before we were back enjoying the warmth of the house with hot cocoa in hand. 

It was a rarity to be accompanied at morning chore time by both daughters that usually took place at 5:30 am before Erin and I headed off to our day jobs and Sara still in high school and usually she spent her time with the cows in the afternoons. However, thirteen days beforehand Theodora or by her nickname Teddy, the first Hereford looking calf had been born. Sara had claimed her to be the one to halter train for her junior FFA project and in order to fulfill her contract with me had to accompany me each feeding as she could. This wasn’t an issue as Sara loved Teddy more than words could describe – who wouldn’t? Calves are the best, especially in the wintertime, all warm, soft, fluffy, and good smelling.

Protocol had it at feeding time that the cows were fed first before dealing with anything that seemed off, like not accounting for all the cows at the feeder. We had learned the hard way that if you didn’t occupy the cows with food before you investigated then you had all of them trying to be helpful and that just didn’t work in most scenarios. As I have said before, cows are herd or family animals and very curious. This morning although New Years Day was no different in our approach and so we left the lone cow by the creek bed, off in the distance alone, and forced ourselves to feed the cows first, even though we all excitedly anticipated a new calf being on the ground. 

Sure, enough we were not disappointed. The cow named Little Heifer had given birth just before dawn to a healthy full blood line Hereford bull calf. He was perfect looking with all the Hereford markings right down to his four legs having white boots on them just above the hooves. I know it will come as a shock that we named him Boots, 2014 New Year’s Day calf. 

What great luck in starting the year off, right? NO, I don’t believe in luck running our lives, which is good, because if I did, I’d have to say I’m one of the unluckiest people on the face of the earth. Why you ask that I don’t believe that our lives are navigated by good or bad luck? Well, luck by definition is a noun meaning success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one’s own actions, or chance considered as a force that causes good or bad things to happen. Simple definition: Luck is chance or happenstance. If something happens from pure good luck, it seemingly came out of nowhere, based only on fate and not on anything you did to make it happen.

I believe that God created us all individually with brains and intelligence to use them along with free will to choose what we do with our lives. We are not simply living, enjoying or not enjoying life led by lucky or unlucky circumstances, in the throw of the dice each day to dictate our happenstance. We have a choice every day to work towards our own goals and aspirations that lead to success or unsuccess, learn lessons by our choices, and change direction if need be. Is this easy all the time, heck no, but if it were easy or lucky it would not be so rewarding or valuable when our hard work and dedication pays off. 

Do I still believe there are serendipity moments in life? Most definitely YES, but life is not dictated by them. Have you heard of the four types of luck, popularized by figures like Naval Ravikant, and written about by Dr. James Austin, in his book Chase, Chance, & Creativity: The Lucky Art of Novelty? I had not until I began writing this blog.

The brief breakdown of each is: 1. Blind Luck, dumb luck, or pure chance in which everything in life is completely random and outside your control, like winning the lottery or a random good encounter, 2. Luck from Motion, active luck, or hustle in the more you do, the more you create, the more you move, the higher your chances of stumbling upon good fortune, such as putting yourself out there leads to a great connection, 3. Luck from Awareness, spotted luck, or attentive luck that involves recognizing opportunities that others miss because you’re paying attention, learning, and spotting patterns, and 4. Luck from Uniqueness, reputation luck, or magnetic luck in that in building a unique brand, skill, or character that makes opportunities come to you because of who you are (the hardest but most powerful type).  

In my opinion, Happenstance or Luck does not lead to success. If it did then we could not take credit for any of our hard work, effort, or diligence to persevere despite adversity. Synonyms for SUCCESS are: 1. Achievement which implies accomplishing a goal, 2. Accomplishment conveying completion and attainment, 3. Conquer suggesting reaching a specific result with triumph, 4. Triumph emphasizing great success and victory, 5. Prosperity suggesting wealth and growth, 6. Fulfillment implying satisfaction and completion, 7. Attainment suggesting reaching a goal, 8. Advancement focusing on progress and growth, 9. Realization indicating bringing goals to fruition, and 10. Completion conveying finishing a task or goal.

When I look back over the successes in my amateur cow whisperer’s years it was not pure HAPPENSTANCE or LUCK but rather through my actions and dedication, every day, working towards the goals I set forth, with God’s help and mercy. I want to take credit when SUCCESS happens not attribute it to good luck, that would negate it and my very life. New Years Day 2014 would be no exception, there was great planning and work that went into the calf breeding and birthing process, so that it was successful. Although it was quite serendipitous that Boots was born on New Years Day, that was the one and only time it happened on my watch.

Even though 2014 started off with such a special serendipitous day, the year itself was not exceptional. Just a few days later the next calf born, Honey, was a dummy calf , that lived only a short time. Just like only having one New Years Day calf, I have only experienced one dummy calf also. Don’t leave your life to pure luck, instead dream, work towards goals, and find SUCCESS in the many small inconsequential moments of your life as well as the grand momentous ones because they all make up it one of a kind entirety of your life, and there’s only ONE YOU. 

Welcome 2026 and a New Year filled with endless possibilities and what you make of it, after all happiness is not always success, but that’s another blog!

I leave you with Be Blessed dear readers, and I truly hope and pray life goes well for you as that is what my faith in God and his Word, the bible, lead and guide me with, not Luck!

`ACW 01.01.2026

FIFTEEN years ago, today, my first four calves were on the ground. On the ground means freshly born. I was in awe during those eight days. My first experience of birthing livestock had been with sheep in my late teens and a foal from my dad’s horse in my early twenties. Although cows were not my first livestock experience, they are herd (family) animals, which gave me a fondness for them as I could easily compare human characteristics to them. 

Seeing new life appear chokes me up every time and I hope that never changes. My heart is touched, and my spirits are lifted in the miracle of it.    

You might think that when cows are born in the barnyard or out in the pastures or even in a barn stall that it would be quite messy and cause a stench. It is quite the opposite in most cases. The afterbirth is the messiest part and unless something is wrong there is no real odor. Newborn calves smell quite nice. It’s a cross between the freshest barley grass odor and a sweet lanolin lotion smell. Cow mothers lick their young with strong aggressive strokes until their furry coats are dry and fluffy, which in turns warms the calves.

Those first four calves born in December 2010 between the 17^th and the 24^th were Joy, Noel, Peace, and Star in honor of Christmas. My late husband, John, experienced a stroke during those dates, and the last calf almost ended up being named Love because Christmas or Noel as it is called, is full of Joy, Peace, and Love, and we certainly felt that in our family when John came home on Christmas Eve. 

However, the moment I wandered into the barnyard at suppertime and spotted the calf, alone and shivering on the frozen concrete slab in front of the feeder, and under the flickering lights, on Christmas Eve, the name Love just didn’t fit her situation. Instead, a Star was born that 24^th day of December 2010, with a white smudge on her forehead that looked in fact, like a star. 

Star had one of the only cow moms that did not love on her like the other cow moms did with their calves. Her mother did all the basics that was required of her but that is where the line was drawn in her responsibility to her calf. Did Star’s mother know what would be her fate in life and thought it best not to devote time to her offspring? Or was she just a selfish cow? Unfortunately, I know human mothers, and human fathers, and quite recently human children, for that matter, that are no different than Star’s cow mom. 

Knowing that hurts my heart. 

I’m proud to say that both John and I were parents that felt honored to have the gift of parenthood. We took the responsibility seriously and with great love, perhaps to the point at times of spoiling our daughters. John and I were not unlike most other parents we knew. We wanted the best for our daughters, better than we had, even though we were not deprived or unloved. We wanted them to have what we didn’t, even though we never lacked for love, food, a warm roof over our heads, or the key essentials we needed to make us successful in life. 

I’m sure looking back we sometimes got wrapped up in what our dreams for their lives were instead of their own. We spoiled them when we could, especially after John’s heart and stroke issues, trying to make up for what we couldn’t give them – unlimited earthly time. Our family time was special in road trips on Sundays and family game nights on Saturdays. 

We worked hard and struggled much during those years because with each health issue the rug was always pulled out from underneath our financial assets. We didn’t want our daughters to feel the financial strain of life at an early age. I don’t think we did anything exceptional in spoiling them when we could. Life can be brutal and who needs to feel that as a child, a youth, a teenager? 

It makes me think of Jesus’ earthly parents, Mary and Joseph, and what if they had been like Star’s cow mom? The Christmas song, “Mary, Did You Know” gets to me not only at Christmas time but any time I hear it, or think about it. Being a parent is such an honored gift, and I never took the job lightly, and neither did my late husband, John. 

We loved them unconditionally for whatever time we would have on earth together. Parenting is not an easy job, it is most self-sacrificing, and the best role models of parents can be taken from the examples of Mary and Joseph with Jesus. His earthly parents. They loved him unconditionally, knowing he was not ultimately theirs and one day sooner than later they would have to let him go, and they did that in love.  

According to online sources the highest level of love is generally considered to be Agape, an ancient Greek term for selfless, unconditional, and universal love, extending to all humanity, even strangers or enemies, without expecting anything in return. It’s a compassionate, sacrificial love rooted in empathy, often seen as divine or spiritual, motivating actions like charity and the desire for others’ well-being, representing a powerful force that overcomes hate.

1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV – And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Until quite recently I have never thought about the flip side to a parent’s unconditional love of their children. I have to admit, my thoughts always rested with, “are the children being loved and cared for”. Never contemplating, “Do children give unconditional love to their parents?”

What if children in a family were raised with unconditional love, given all the necessities needed to thrive, and in fact spoiled, but unlike my daughters, these children were spoiled financially too, never having been expected to earn what they are given? If young adult children are gifted all their parent’s financial assets, in fact gifted their entire inheritance before their parents die, to ensure a firm basis of survival without much effort for the rest of their lives, at an early adult age, will they truly appreciate this gift? 

My personal belief is, NO! Can they without walking in their parent’s steps through the years of sacrifices and hard work, failures, and hard lessons? 

How do you console parents that have gifted everything to their children, are left with nothing, have quite possibly decades left to live on earth, and their children do not respect this gift to the fact they blame them for not doing, being, or giving more in the way they wanted their inheritance?

How do you sit by and listen to these parents in their sadness sob and question why their children hate them so much when all they wanted for them was an even better happiness than they had with a unity of family. 

This amateur cow whisperer is having a hard time keeping her mouth shut. I want to give these children a piece of my mind, I am being the judge, and that’s not my place. I’m finding myself spending much time in earnest prayer, for only God will know the best way to direct me in lending aide.  

Did Jesus treat his earthly parents like these children? No. Did Mary and Joseph treat their son like the unloving cow mom? No. Then I say, there is HOPE in this season of miracles at Christmastime. Star, not being loved by her cow mom, did not let that stop her from being a loving cow herself. She in fact was a precocious calf that was friendly, joyful, and had a peace about her that settled the others around her, and she let us humans love on her. LOVE IS IMPORTANT.

I want to implore each of you, as parents or children, to take the time to walk in the other’s shoes, before you judge, and especially before you act in anything other than love, you might learn something very important, and it could change the whole direction of your heart. Be a STAR! 

Kindness is defined as the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate. But as I’ve learned this past year the very act of kindness means so much more especially when you are the recipient. Kindness is the quality of sharing gentleness, compassion, and being supportive, both emotionally and physically, motivated by a true aspiration to improve the recipient’s welfare and not for the giver’s personal benefit. It’s more than just being courteous or well-mannered; it’s a deep-rooted understanding and concern that inspires givers to act in ways that help others, even when it’s not always easy or convenient. Kindness could be viewed as a selfless act. 

The cows formed a single file line on the path made of compacted snow. But in reality, it was simply an ice path. Treacherous for my two feet if I took too large of steps but equally for my four-legged cows. The youngest cow on the ranch was in the lead followed by yearling calves, teenage cows, and finally the oldest cow with her newborn calf. It was the first calf born in the past few days that had not instantly frozen to the ground despite our best efforts at being ever-watchful and throwing them on a wool blanket the minute they were born, and working as a team by carrying them into the barn or dragging them singularly if the moment occurred that way, where they could be warmed in the hay straw, out of the icy winds and weather, with their cow moms close for body heat. 

My oldest cow was struggling. Her poor hooves were a bit weathered and curled and she ambled slowly losing her footing on the icy path. I could offer no assistance as I was a mere twentieth in comparison to her size. She still knew I was present and would wait for her to make it up into the barnyard or freeze right alongside her. My late husband had been a fire fighter in his younger days and often referred to the saying, “You go, we go,” translating we were in this together, until the bitter end, whatever that would be. It’s a comforting notion if you think about it. Someone there, holding your grip tightly, and not willing to break it, despite the consequence to their own well-being. That signifies a great kindness for another, no matter how well you know them, if you even know them at all. 

Out of the barnyard and through the deep snow alongside the icy path the oldest cow’s best friend came barging through the snow like a big monster snowplow on the empty streets in the wintertime. Massive and strong and single-mindedly aiming straight towards her struggling friend. I watched in amazement through the blinding snow swirling around my face. The cow friend made it to her buddy, she braced her steady massive stature against the new cow mother and began pushing her slow and surely. The two walked steadily along the path and up into the barnyard almost as conjoined twins. My daughter and I were able to roll the little calf into a wool blanket and pull it along behind us to the barn or bust. 

I often marvel at the recollection of that day, that moment, that act of kindness one cow offered to her friend. Although there are no photos or videos of that day the memory will be etched in my mind forever like a movie reel that repeats upon command. It was rare and beautiful like most of my treasured memories of my cow whispering days. Cows often display the best characteristics that humans should follow.   

Spring is here and although I’m not out in the cow pastures this season, I am finding new adventures by scoping out scenery that I can use for my book covers. Short-stop should be my nickname as I’m just at five feet in length. I was appreciative when the friend I was out exploring nature with asked me if I’d like some assistance climbing up the three-foot grassy embankment. The day had been spent scouting out the perfect landscape picture for my schoolhouse book and the image before me met my liking. I could stay sure footed on the gravel road to take the photo but then my photo would include three wrung of the barbed wire fences between me and the perfect shot. I didn’t have to think twice, and I quickly answered, “yes”. 

Such a simple everyday gesture of kindness and yet in that moment it made me feel cared for and that my wellbeing and regard to my safety was thought over. This person is a true friend and a giver such as I. They are always selfless in their acts of kindness and truly compassionate in nature. As I took their hand for their assistance, I immediately had an alternate image of another friend, from the previous year roll through my mind. It was quite the opposite, it was merciless, not an act of kindness at all. 

There I was face down on the icy cement after losing my footing in the timing of a single heartbeat. Banged and bruised with a broken bone in my left hand and my right shoulder and hip screaming in pain I could not push myself up to get my footing. I worked at clambering around to find something to brace myself against. A friend’s voice from a few feet away in the safety of the overhang interrupted my struggles by saying, “I don’t know how to help you without getting hurt myself.” And they did nothing to assist me. Yes, indeed, kindness is often a selfless act but so is unkindness, if you think about it. 

Not only is kindness a selfless act, but the very core of a true friendship is also defined as a state of mutual trust and support; a close relationship between people characterized by mutual affection, trust, support, and understanding. Clearly my “friend” did not display the characteristics of us being in a friendship. In those moments, lying face down on the ice like a beached whale, sobbing, I was all too aware that my “friend” my companion, didn’t even care for me at the basic level of one human being to another. They were not my friend and that crushed me more than the pain of the bruised and broken hand I had. 

The definition of kindness was not found for me that day even as I grasp the first sturdy fence post I could find with all the gumption I could muster and pull myself upright and make it slowly and unsteadily to my truck and drive myself to the emergency room. I’d like to say I never looked back at that friend, but for those that know me well, I’m the eternal optimist with faith that others will change and do better going forward. It took me another ten months to finally conclude that some people cannot change, they cannot be selfless in nature, they cannot show kindness or even compassion towards the very people they say they care about. These people do not make good friends.    

I will always do my best to be a friend or acquaintance that extends kindness, even if it kills me in the process. I will strive to find practical ways to display kindness to others, like lending a helping hand, offering words of encouragement, or simply being a supportive presence during tough times. These actions, both big and small, can significantly impact the recipient and strengthen the bond between friends or acquaintances. It can also do the same for the giver.

Being there, listening, offering encouragement, smiling, or providing a helping hand are all ways of offering kindness. It’s not always easy, especially when you find yourself face to face with a “friend” that doesn’t display the simplest character of kindness and that is why each day I begin in prayer for God to fill me with grace and humility that I might offer kindness to those I encounter during the day.  

If you cry in the rain will anyone notice? Or do they just think the rain is running down your face? Perhaps if they know you well enough or are just perceptive, they indeed will look into your eyes and see the truth. Pain and sorrow are often hard to hide when someone looks directly into a person’s eyes. Tears are the cursor that many people are alerted by.

October 31^st, Halloween, 2012 was a rainy deary day such as the one today. People being silly, scaring peeps in good humor, the delight of candy without guilt, and children in costumes walking, skipping, and rushing in pairs, trios, and groups having fun. 

Yet I was hiding tears in the rain.

Halloween of 2012 found me on the last day of my second year as the amateur cow whisperer saying goodbye to a feisty young bull named JoyBoy. Today, Halloween 2024, finds me a week from my last day as the amateur cow whisperer, with the first of three loads to various cattle sales. Saying goodbye to my three oldest cows, Orca, Spice, and Clover. Orca has just turned twelve and the other two are nine. They have all been good breed cows and my daily companions of many moons.

Life moves forward and with that constant flow of the waters new chapters in one’s life are always coming. My new chapter will not include cows, well, not my own at least. Just like the teenage days of my youth when I raised sheep. I was good at tubing newborn lambs and so for years after leaving sheep and lambing to someone else I was still called on in those emergencies. That is until my aging fingers could no longer feel the tube through the lamb’s throat potentially causing risk to the lamb. I ponder what the years look like ahead with the end of this cattle chapter. Will I be called in to lend assistance as a cow whisperer? Perhaps.

ACW Journal Entry – 10/31/2012:

In the days, months, and years leading up to this day I had never once thought I would mind saying goodbye to the little bull named, JoyBoy, but I guess you can get attached when you care for something every day for almost two years. It is fitting that my “cow year” ends with JoyBoy and Erin as it was with them that I began my first experiences with the cows on the ranch.

JoyBoy was the first calf that was born on the ranch that first year Erin and I tended the cows. We didn’t expect that little Angus bull calf, let alone know what to do with him, or even what would be normal for him to be doing, that very first day calves began to arrive. It was amateur day #1 the day JoyBoy was born. 

JoyBoy was an all-black stocky little bull calf. After a few short months he became very shaggy and fluffy. Like all creatures he transformed over time and just shy of two-years old he was his father’s bull. JoyBoy is now tall, lean, and sturdy with a sleek black coat and his ever-big alert style ears and inquisitive nature. 

Erin was home from college a few weeks ago and when she heard JoyBoy would be going to the bull auction she had to have her picture taken with him. It most assuredly displayed a much different size image than when he was a newborn calf. Of course, JoyBoy wouldn’t cooperate entirely with the “formal picture” and so Erin had to settle for a shot with her kneeling in front of his face while he was eating hay. A picture of Erin was found from when she was four-years old and with a set of twin calves on the ranch. Just as creatures transform with age so do humans. Erin and JoyBoy had both grown into beautiful images.

As I fed JoyBoy his breakfast this morning and then happily said a farewell to him after he grabbed the pitchfork full of hay and caused it to tumble over to the wrong side of the feeder, I also thought “good-ridden”. Later at work, sitting at my desk, I received a text from Richard that he had loaded JoyBoy up and was headed for the bull sale. 

A few hours went by and in between Medicare clients another text from Richard came in that said, “Almost shed a tear when he walked out of trailer – he stopped turned to look directly at me with what’s going on look…” And then, right there at my work desk, I lost my composure. The tears began to fall. 

JoyBoy had only ever known the ranch. Never once had he been off its land, what was he thinking? No one even realized I was crying. It was just my troublesome autumn allergic watery eyes and outside the pounding rain. 

Today no one was any more perceptive of the tears than that day twelve years ago. The rain was falling, the breeze blowing it sideways, and the fog so thick that it helped hide my face. These three old cows, Orca, Spice, and Clover had been trailered many times over the years. They trusted my voice and followed commands. They were happy to be trailered and go for another ride, together, as cow friends. The drive in the rain was uneventful. They exited the trailer as easily as they had embarked for the journey. 

Now back at home sitting in my comfy desk chair in front of my giant computer screen, alone, in the silence of the house. The rain has ceased, the wind still, the fog lifted, but my tears continue. So many emotions going through my brain and heart as the pen is lifted on this chapter of my life and the ink begins to dry. My tears do not. I own the fact that a huge piece of me has just evaporated like the rain drops on the windows.

I’ve experienced the death of my spouse not too many years ago and the grief that accompanied the loss. But one can grieve the loss of a dream too. It is a valid feeling. The saying – for something new to take place something old needs to die; there is grief in that. It’s okay to grieve that loss. Perhaps particles of the lost dream can be repurposed into a part of the new dream. My tears and grief over the cows will cease in time. 

I’d like to wrap this blog with an upbeat and happy inspiration. My dream of raising beef cows is ending but in fulfilling that dream it gave way to a long-lost dream of writing. Over a decade ago I was in the barn with the cows and the words just began to flow. My fingers sailed over the keyboard as my cow experiences with the cows turned into quirky tails of cows and humans. That opened the door for me to impact, inspire, and relate to others through writing. 

If I can repurpose my cow dream into my dream to be an author, then you my peeps can do the same for your lost dreams. I do not take credit for this, God, has given me the talents and it’s my responsibility to share that with others and give him the glory. 

The Amateur Cow Whisperer isn’t going anywhere! I’ll still be blogging the cow stories as they come to me – after all, I have fourteen years’ worth of material to pull from.  

As I lost the battle of holding the flashlight between my chin and chest this morning in the pitch-black darkness of the wee morning hours I had a moment of blindness. The magnificent beam of the high strength flashlight my son-in-law had given me a few years ago had flicked off when it hit the ground somewhere with lumber all around. From there it must have rolled into the only crevice anywhere around the spot it dropped.

Even after a few moments of adjusting my eyes to the darkness I could not find the flashlight. Finally, I relented and took my gloves off, pulled my cellphone out of my jacket, and turned the flashlight app on. It was then that I saw there was a crevice between the lumber pieces and eventually saw the shiny black metal glimmering back at me.

Within two minutes or less I surmise before I was out of the blindness. What if the blindness was a permanent physical attribute? How would I find my way around the barnyard and cattle herd? I have often said over the last fourteen years that I could drive myself blindfolded out to the ranch as I make the trek twice on a minimum each day – almost 365 days a year. Sometimes I get a few days or a glorious week off for good behavior! 

Just because I could drive blindfolded and navigate my way out to the ranch be certain dear readers, I wouldn’t. Why, not even on a double dog dare? The answer is simple. I may know my way by heart and feel or tread of the truck tires but there is one huge variable, what might come into my path that I can’t obviously see, wouldn’t necessarily hear, or smell being contained in the truck. Quite often I have more people suddenly interject themselves into my lane of traffic than animals but there are those too.

Just yesterday I had to slow to almost a stop while the car in front of me (out of stater) decided to full on stop for a flock of turkeys crossing the road. Even if the license plate hadn’t signaled me to the fact, they were out of stater’s I would have known they weren’t from this neck of the woods. Turkeys are large but they are foul animals and can most definitely fly. Yep, you heard it, if you didn’t already know it – turkeys can fly!

How do I know this? Well, each night for the last couple years since 100 wild turkeys have called the ranch home, they fly up into the tallest ponderosa pine tree they can find. That is also why they multiply and aren’t picked off by predators. They don’t sleep on the ground. That is how they stay blind to nightly predators, and you don’t find them beak up on the asphalt. 

This morning, I had to come to a full stop and let four deer of various sizes and ages cross the road when they blindly jumped into it in front of me. When they did this, it gave me more thought on blindness. I’m sure the deer wouldn’t have avoided me if I was blindfolded driving down the road if the roles were reversed. 

Having known two blind individuals in my life, I know for certain that they may indeed have a disability but that doesn’t stop either of them from living life to its fullest nor avoiding activities that they enjoy even if more challenging. In fact, one of them would be quite indignant with you if you even said they were “disabled” because of their blindness. 

One of my most sweet, beautiful, young Hereford cows became blind after a double pink eye infection in 2017. The condition was so grave that we weren’t sure at the time if she wouldn’t lose both eyes as well. She was born in the year of flavorings when it came to naming the calves and so this cow was named Spice. Her best cow friend, Clover, was born just a month after her. Fortunately, Spice was the only cow that acquired the infection from the mass number of flies that year up in the summer pastures. 

I had discovered it when doing my weekly check and by the time I was able to get back up to the summer pastures with a trailer in tow the infection had worsened. Luckily her calf was a good calm one that allowed us to trailer them without incident but not before Clover and her own calf jumped in the trailer too. Once Spice was back at the ranch the vet was called, and the eyes were both treated and sewn shut for several weeks. Blindfolds were also glued to her face around the eyes to keep them as clean and protected as possible to allow healing to begin. The hope was that she wouldn’t lose her sight altogether.

Since there were no other cows on the ranch during the summer months, I became close to this group of four. They were fascinating to watch. When the calves weren’t suckling milk or sleeping as calves do, Clover would walk slow swishing her tail to allow Spice to feel and smell it allowing her to follow and wander the ranch’s pastures and graze with her. This amazed me. How did Clover know? How did Spice know to follow? How did they communicate this? Over time Spice could be seen meandering the familiar pastures and trails around the ranch by herself as her other senses had picked up where her eyes could not. 

Around the six-week mark the blindfolds began to wear away and eventually fall from her face. I’m sure she scratched her face against anything that felt good too. The heat and stiffness of the blindfolds probably caused quite the itching. The sutures were finally removed and as suspected her beautiful eyes were cloudy. Her left eye had enough vision that she could easily be spooked. Most likely she only saw shadows but there wasn’t really a way to know for certain. 

I just learned not to come at her quickly without speaking first as she recognized my voice and seem to take comfort in it the same way whenever Clover was with her. Spice adapted at being 90% blind and is still with me today. She is one of the most peaceful cows on the ranch and if there was a best cow mom award it would certainly be hers. You will often still find Clover and Spice together resting in the shade of the ponderosa pine trees or grazing on one of the ranch’s pastures, friends forever. 

However, each summer following Spice and her calf of the year would have to remain on the ranch while the rest of the herd went to the summer pastures. It was just too wide an area with unfamiliar terrains for Spice to traverse even with Clover as her guide. It would be as dangerous as me driving blindfolded to the ranch. Blindness is a vulnerability to what lays in our path. 

Sometimes we humans are “blind” without the impairment of physical blindness. We have obliviousness, unawareness, inattentiveness or absentmindedness towards a person or situation that can be just as or even more treacherous than driving blindfolded. 

We are unable or unwilling to discern such as “blind to a loved one’s faults”, or unquestioning such as “blind loyalty”, or having not regard to rational guidance such as “blind choice”, or lacking a directing or controlling consciousness such as “blind chance”, or “to turn a blind-eye” in which you intentionally ignore or overlook something especially if conscientiously you know it to be wrong.

I know I’m not alone or embarrassed by saying that sometimes I need a Clover in my life to swish her tail diverting me back out of my own blindness and into full vision of what lay ahead. When? Well. Someone saying all the right things in your ears but actions not aligning with the words, but you keep listening. Continuing to take someone’s defense without relenting because there’s no way you’re going to admit you were wrong about them even when you know you are. A little ache or pain that’s easy to blow it off as aging or random only to end up in the er or emergency surgery. Hearing something about someone you care about but not wanting to “get involved” or have people look at you, and so you wave it off and pretend you didn’t hear it. 

Any of those sound familiar? There are always lessons to be learned from watching the cattle herd. I’m not saying that I don’t have faith and belief in God, but he formed us with brains, hearts, and with free choice. He isn’t responsible for our blindnesses. That is completely on us! 

I wouldn’t often tell others to “act like an animal” but in this instance perhaps it’s fitting. I’m not going to use “blindness” as an excuse and I hope you won’t either.

Last autumn (2023) as I walked the hillside pasture my hands floating over the hip high grasses with the smell of Lupine hanging heavy in the air a tear ran down my cheek with the realization there wouldn’t be many more times I would experience this. My cow herd was following me true to fashion. A couple younger calves were walking in unison with me. A few teenage cows were running ahead not even knowing where I would end up. And my older cows true and faithful friends were ambling behind picking up the rear of the herd. My protectors ready and willing to stay with me should I falter.

Truth be known tears are cresting over my eyelids as I finish this blog some 12 months later.

Something so simple and instinctual such as walking had become laborious, painful, and unsteady. My tenacity, strength, and of course stubbornness that I come by naturally had brought me this far in my fourteen years as the Amateur Cow Whisperer. As my daughters were both grown and raised with family and careers of their own that left me in solitude most days with the cow herd. 

Now I found myself fighting the almost hidden from outward appearance but terribly painful internal debilitating disease PsA otherwise known as Psoriatic Arthritis. This type of arthritis is far from the typical aging or sports induced arthritis. In fact, why it is even labeled as arthritis is a misrepresentation of the disease. PsA is an inflammatory autoimmune disease. Instead of your immune system protecting you against bacteria and viruses it mistakenly attacks your joints, ligaments, tendons, and sometimes skin. Some seventeen years ago I had been misdiagnosed with Fibromyalgia instead of PsA. That is a story for a different time. 

Sadly, instead of pushing myself and my body through the pain I was experiencing because it was in soft tissue and would do no damage; I instead had been unknowingly destroying the tendons and ligaments in each joint. My days with the cow herd had always brought me such peace and joy. Pushing through my pain and tiredness to care for them whether moving hay to feed them or hiking on foot to move them from pasture to pasture. No wonder why my worst joints were shoulder, fingers, knees, and feet. My gait increasingly worsening never to be fixed. 

Nutella, my oldest cow, who was beyond breeding days now, came to walk beside me. She nudged my hand over the tall grasses, and we stopped in unison. I began scratching the sides of her face as she enjoyed. No words were necessary between us. She and I knew each other’s pain. We had walked many dry dusty summer and icy snow laden paths together over the years. From the year she was born just three days after her best cow friend Brownie, they had both been my most loyal cows. It’s no secret that they will always be my all-time favorites. 

She and her best friend, Brownie, had stood with me in the pastures and listened to my sobs when my late husband, John, had died. And just six months ago I had stood with Nutella over Brownie’s final resting place when all efforts to save her were lost. That day mimicked the day of John’s sudden death, both were intense, ugly, brutal, and in the end fruitless. Yet, both would be imprinted on my heart and in my mind forever. Nutella and I were the last from those early days of my amateur cow whisperer experiences. The learning experiences of those infant days with the cow herd would forever be secrets between she and I.  

Pets from lap dogs or cats to my own cows are often creatures that are more in tune and comforting than our own fellow humans. Even with our best intentions, we humans cannot always offer fellow humans what they need in that moment of grief and sorrow. Someone close to me uttered these words shortly after John died, “I’m sure your heart still hurts but it hurts me more to see you this way.” Hearing the words come from their lips instantly insulted me and ended the conversation immediately as I had no words in response.  

Really? At first, I thought the person was trying to make some sort of poor joke. But they really meant it. Worse yet, they heartfully meant it. I wanted to push the “unfriend” button, unfortunately unlike social media in real life there is no such button. Instead, you shake your head and move forward just like grief itself. You don’t get over it, you move forward, and carrying it gets lighter as the world gets bigger around it. 

After much time went by and still perplexed by that statement I thought about it a bit more unbiasedly. What I realized is that perhaps for some people seeing another in pain does cause them so much hurt because they care about that person so much that it prevents them from offering anything of themselves as comfort. That’s okay. We each process and react differently. But, frankly, even if I felt that way I would never say those words to anyone in response to their grief. So, I’m putting it out here in this blog, if you feel that way, please don’t say those words that were uttered to me. There are so many other words one could say. You don’t even have to say anything at all. You can instead just hold their hand, sit with them, pray over them, or give them a gentle hug in silence.

Nutella and I once again began walking out of the pasture, down the hill, and on the path by the creek until it forked three ways. We took the fork in the path that led to the lower barn. Once there I went through the human door and Nutella went around to the feeder side and stood with the rest of the herd.

I didn’t normally have to feed in September, but it had been an abnormally dry year and there were no grasses left even in the creek bottoms. It was strange to be feeding hay out of the feeder in the dry and hot not so chilly air. To be taking comfort from the blaring sun in the shade of the barn’s roof and feeder was a first and had a rather odd feeling. 

Much too soon the winter months would be upon us, and I would have three layers of clothing on, below zero muck boots, and heated feeding gloves. Even with all that attire to ward off the weather my joints would be snap, cracking, and popping and as cool as my grandsons thought those sounds to be, they were anything but delightful. Just hearing them now in the warmth of the autumn day I knew in my heart this winter would be my last with the cows, in this second home of mine. It was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever made but I had to protect my joints from further unrepairable damage in the ways I had control over.  

Yes, the sweet-smelling barley and alfalfa hay would be aromas I would have to conjure up next winter bringing a smile of joy to rest across my face on a cold dark day; or the feeling of warmth being engulfed by the cows in the feeder while I raked hay out providing a blanket of coziness to my lonely heart as I rested in my overstuffed chair watching the snow fall. Each season that came this coming year would supply me with memories I could hold unto for all times sake. This last year of being the Amateur Cow Whisperer I would take in stride with all the tenacity I could muster up. 

God had already begun to make way for new dreams to come to life for me. Paths I had long ago diverted from were now right at my fingertips, literally, a publisher had just accepted one of my manuscripts. Yesterday they had called and offered me a contract. 

I looked down the feeder one last time before heading home, thirteen cow faces looked back at me. By weeks end there would only be ten. I shook my head in disbelief at the thought. Ten cows. All those years ago I started with ten cows and now I would finish with ten cows too. In the hundreds of cows that had been born on the ranch under my care I could still remember each of them and all the seasons that brought me to where I was today. How fitting to begin and end the same. God continues to bless me!

I started this blog a few years ago but didn’t finish it and it was lost in my writing files.

This morning, I ran across it while sorting my writing files. The memory of it is much more humorous now after time has gone by than in the moment of it. If you’re a Granger, you’ll find it even fitting with National Grange just around the corner.  

The gatekeeper replied a second time in a hushed annoying tone, “The Word?” At this my heart began beating so loud it was like thunder rolling in my ears and my face was flushing into deep shades of crimson colors. 

Once I had learned “The Word” I had repeated it time and time again out loud to myself. Usually while doing cow chores over the past few months. I had even made up a silly cheer song in which to remember it by. 

When I had obtained my 5^th and 6^th degrees at State Grange a few months ago they had said how important “The Word” was if you were going to gain entrance through the doors at National Grange’s 7^th degree ceremony. I had not taken this information lightly. I was no spring chicken. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe I was too old to retain new information?

No. I had been given “The Word” in secret by a mentor Granger to gain entrance at the State Grange’s 5^th and 6^th degree ceremony. And it had worked and that was only a few months ago.

The cows had raised their heads, and you could almost see the distain on their faces, and the rolling of their eyes at me as I had sung my made-up cheer song to them repeatedly in those few long months. “I’m a Granger D-E-T-E-R-M-I-N-E-D to remember the word determined. Yes, I’m D-E-T-E-R-M-I-N-E-D to get the highest Grange degree. Go determined, yes, yes, yes!”

Now, at the “gate”, well the entrance doors into the 7^th degree ceremony at National Grange in Sparks Nevada. Surrounded by the glitzy lights and the snazzy outfits that were everywhere, a place where my cheer would have fit right in. Well, laugh out loud, maybe not! 

The gatekeeper on the entrance doors was a tall and burly guy who even though his arms weren’t crossed sounded just as firm without as he asked me again, “The Word?” and as I said, “determined” again and he shook his head almost rolling his eyes at me just as the cows had. I was certain he was going to bounce me right out of the lavish and ornate event hall. Later I wouldn’t even be able to tell a tall tale about being bounced for being wild and crazy!

Out of thin air a familiar voice was whispering a mind twister in my ear and if I could answer it then I would have the correct “word” because the word determined was only the yearly word for State Grange! Really? I had paid close attention to the 5^th and 6^th degree work and ceremony, and I could not recall having heard that. The poor cows. They had listened to that silly cheer for months needlessly. I wouldn’t tell them and no one else could either 😊

Thank you, Martha! I will never forget your graciousness at helping a Granger newbie. I’m so happy that you like so many other Grangers from all over the Nation have become friends of mine and I hope one day I can pay your kindness forward to another newbie.

I looked way up at the gatekeeper (because I’m short) one last time and met his eyes that appeared to be screaming, “Are you going to get it this time?” and yet he asked me one last time, “The Word?” This time I answered correctly with, “______,” and he made the signal with his hand that I could enter. Yep, he didn’t even open the door for me. No balloons or glitter fell from the ceiling like it does in prize shows. No fanfare yelled, “YAY”. It was a quiet memorious moment for me to remember with a chuckle once it was over.

If the cows had been there on either side of me like when I stand in the feeder chucking out their hay they would have at least swung their heads from side to side saying, “You did it Amateur Cow Whisperer, you don’t need a code with us, we love you,” and with the swaying of their heads the hay mucous spit would fly through the air slapping me on the back. That would have been good because on most days it hits me in the face… 

Life is too short. Try new things. Treasure the one’s you love. Laugh daily (even at yourself)!

This season for me has been especially difficult. I have several unfinished blogs about it but am still trying to find the right words to finish them. Hopefully you readers will be patient with me.

Early this morning I was out in the barnyard before the sun was up. I was there with my daughter, Erin, who was trying to collect a urine specimen from her horse Belle. She was not being compliant! She has had some new issues develop since her pelvic fracture six weeks ago. Hopefully we will find answers out on her health soon.

The cows gathered around at the fence line outside the barnyard. They are still out grazing on natural grasses on the ranch for another month or so. Cows are by nature very sociable and they can sense something going around the ranch even when they are out of sight. Like this morning for instance. So they wandered in to snoop on what was happening with the horse. I love their inquisitive nature.

Later I was sitting at my desk integrating my blogs into my new website. Last month I was told I needed a new website that reflected Me, as I was soon to become a published book author. My least favorite subject to write about is Me. So, I decided if I had to have a new website, I would encompass all of my writings together.

While integrating I found this devotional I had written for a local women’s church group back in 2021. It was mistakenly saved in my 2021 blog post file, or was it? I’ll let you readers decide.

I had written it shortly after my husband, John, had died and that season was a difficult one too. My favorite passage of scripture is Ecclesiastes 3:1-15 – “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…” It helps remind me that not every season in my life has been difficult nor will be difficult. Today I draw comfort in that and perhaps you will too.

June 21, 2021:

I’m a cow partner on a small ranch. I did not start out as a partner but as a mere cow- sitter. Advancing quickly to cow-manager and then with much blood, sweat and diligent cow-tending settled in as a partner in the cow business. The current arrangement works well as I love the cow herd and am known as a cow whisperer by many. Being with the cows is my reward; it’s something I truly love. The cow management is my part in partner my counterpart handles the crops and land management.

You might ask, what does this have to do with a biblical devotional? Well, it was God’s grace that led me to this rather unconventional partnership. Almost a dozen years ago my oldest daughter had been diagnosed with a form of advancing osteoarthritis, at only 19. She had been schooled in equine therapeutic riding and wanted to purchase a horse of her own to continue it daily.

We live in town. And so, when boarding arrangements fell through the day before she was to pick up the horse, we had to search out a solution. To say my daughter, myself and my husband had much anger and frustration over this initial arrangement being cut off at the last minute would be mildly putting it.

I remember crying out to God, “why?” many times. Why, the arthritis, why the perfect horse and no lodging, why could someone so close be so harsh. I believed my prayers had been unanswered and although I loved these individuals, I carried the bitterness I felt for them a long time.

The night before the horse was to be picked up, I called a long-term friend of the family as he had a ranch close to town, hoping we could secure a short-term place for the horse while we continued looking for a permanent one. As what I would later (well in all honesty years later) recognize, it was not fate nor the stars aligning perfectly, it was God’s plan. Not only for my daughter to have a place to keep her horse but for all our lives to be changed in a positive new direction, and down a path I believe wholeheartedly was God’s plan for us.

Our friend drove long-haul to make ends meet on his ranch and his ranch-hand had just left for another job. He needed someone to tend the cow herd while he was gone. And so, a permanent arrangement was made. Belle, now a beautiful eighteen-year-old Palomino, is still ruling over the mere cattle with her feisty superior personality, in her forever home.

Many seasons have come and gone over my years on the ranch and with them there have been many changes, heartaches, and rejoicing. I often reflect on them at the end of each calving season and with each anniversary of Belle walking off the horse trailer into her paddock by the cows. Remembering the cow’s inquisitive faces, wondering what kind of cow she was.

When our friend retired from long-hauling I wondered if he would no longer need our cow partnership. We all felt such gratitude for him and yet when we spoke about him “saving the day” all those years ago, giving me a life with cows I never knew I even wanted. He replied, “No, you all kept me from having to sell the herd. I owe you so much. I couldn’t find anyone to watch over the herd for what I could pay, and I had to keep my other job in order to keep the ranch.”

God knew. God provided, not only for us but for our friend. God’s grace and abundance even when I was too blind and hard-hearted to see it. I realized God had given us this “season” this “purpose”. He supplied what we not only needed but what he knew we needed more than just the situation itself.

I can still remember to this day that after that conversation I drove the ATV up to my favorite vantage point that looks over the small valley with the creek bubbling through it and the green foliage of the grasses and trees welling over around it and sat watching in awe the beautiful newborn calves running and jumping alongside their mothers and realizing that I would have missed ALL this glory if Belle’s original boarding arrangements had not fell through.

I’m fortunate to be out in God’s beauty every day, in every season, and with every purpose. All at once sitting there with the warmth of the spring’s late afternoon sunlight on my face and the light breath of the cool breeze I felt the hard shell around my heart dissolve and the anger dissipate towards the individuals that had turned my daughter and her horse away, and forgiveness welled up inside me and the weight of it all was lifted. The “whys” of long ago weren’t important, it was the living and trusting God wholeheartedly even when you have those “whys” that is the importance in our faith.

And so, I encourage you to read beyond verse 1 of Ecclesiastes.

Blessings Readers! ~ACW 🙂

Ecclesiastes 3:1-15 KJV

A Time for Everything

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth? I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.

He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end. I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life.

And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God. I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him.

That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past.

The 2023 Spring calving season did not start or end as predicted. Sometimes I must be reminded that I am not in control at all. That is a tough concept for an organizer and perfectionist such as I. This was the first year we have ever had the cows pregnant checked by bloodwork versus the old-fashioned way of physically checking them.

With this new technology (at least for us because it’s been around awhile) how could the facts not be correct? Well, to error is human, right? This was the case for us when the cows #2101 and #2102 somehow got swapped on the check-in paper when the blood was drawn. Barley was bred and Millet was not.

I spent the winter months being a tad disappointed that one of my two of age heifers had not been bred. This was the first time in five years I had integrated in new heifers and would be the last time for quite a long time. I decided that perhaps she was just not ready, and I would give her another year despite losing the productivity of her for a year. This decision was not taken lightly as I had to weigh it against the expense of keeping her fed and cared for during another year without any production of calves from her. 

With the five older cows and one heifer being bred this would be the smallest calf births on the ranch since my days began back in 2010. It would also be the first time in many years that we would be expecting calves in later springtime versus winter. I had planned this cycle out so that we would avoid the harshest of the cold months. It was more for us humans than for the cows. They seemed to do fine during the cold snaps but us humans were getting older, and our joints didn’t work as well in the cold.

My main concern by February was my oldest cow, Brownie, who seemed to be ailing. My heart ached as I watched her deteriorate with each passing day. It became quite clear that she had cancer, and her body was failing. She was bred and almost to term and so I sat by her side daily feeling helpless. I just prayed that her pain was low and that she would bounce back after having her calf. My prayers would not be answered, but that is a story for another day.

By April First I was beginning to think that the joke was on me and there would be no calves born at all. The technology of the pregnancy bloodwork is great for a fast simple yes or no, but it doesn’t tell you what the calf due date is. With the physical cow pregnancy checks you have a roundabout notion by the size of the calf head and how big the calf feels. When you stack up the “feel” test with the breeding records I keep you can often get within a few weeks of accuracy. But this new bloodwork technology leaves you in the dark until one morning you look out at daybreak and there’s a fresh calf on the ground.

April 3rd was one of those dates. Ginger was born. A couple days later out popped Pepper. Then lo and behold a week later, early one morning, I looked out the window towards the swale creek and there was Millet with a calf! I did a double take. She must be watching Ginger, or another cow had given birth and was at the creek drinking water and I couldn’t see her. I ran outside without my jacket or muck boots for that matter and down the path I jogged. 

I was in complete and udder amazement. Millet the non-bred heifer cow had just given birth to a healthy full-term calf! However, did this happen? The technology of the pregnancy bloodwork tests is 99% accuracy only 14 days after conception. So even with those small windows for error the dates would not have aligned with her giving birth to a full-term calf in April if she was not bred by November 1st. 

I named the smudged face calf, Nutmeg, and just smiled all day long at the miracle.

It wasn’t long before calves Sage and Parsley were born. At this point I spoke with the veterinarian, and we determined that tag numbers #2101 and #2102 had been reversed on the pregnancy bloodwork papers. The heifer Barley was not bred. And so, calving season was done. 

The month of May sped by. All the calves were healthy and strong. When June arrived, it was time to begin the breeding season again. I decided to put Barley in with the bull again too in hopes that this year she would be bred. If she was not bred over a second year, I would have to sell her. This was upsetting to me as she was the last of Brownie’s line to carry on. 

On July 27^th, I walked out to the barnyard to feed the barn cats and horse and I was flabbergasted to find Barley next to the barn with a newborn calf in tow. The calf was upright and nursing. What a happy surprise on a hot and sunny morning during the peak of the summer. And so, a little Paprika, topped the calving season. It’s a good thing she’s a little spit fire. She’s three months younger than any of the other calves and must be quick and agile to keep up with them.

I’m still pondering whether to use the cow pregnancy bloodwork tests this year. Was the knowledge helpful? Yes, but it wasn’t without fault. What if I had not chosen to keep both Millet and Barley one more year to see if they could get bred? I would have missed out on both calves. Yikes! Technology is wonderful. I’m sitting in my living room typing wirelessly on a super-fast WIFI connection in rural America as I roll this blog out. But technology isn’t without fault and sometimes you just must do things the old-fashioned way to be foolproof.   

One abnormally warm spring day in 2013 I got off work early and decided it would be a great afternoon for a hike. I could hike the hundred acres around the ranch and check the cows that were grazing in various smaller groups of their choosing. I had cabin fever which was ironic as I spent half my time at my office downtown and the other outside or in the barns of the ranch. Calving season had just concluded so I was not allotted much time for sleeping and eating. It a rancher’s joke about calving season although at time feels really—real!

By chance this was just a few days after the new shiny green calf table arrived on the ranch. Never having a calf table before to treat the calves in a more orderly way, there was much excitement over using it the first time. Spring banding, brands and vaccines—immunizations not hormones—would be so much easier. The upcoming Saturday would be its unveiling. Of course, it first had to be placed and anchored. Except as of this day, it was still being mulled over as to where it should be in the chute area without completely re-designing the 100-year-old chute system. It had been moved several times seeking out that harmonious place.

For those that don’t know what a calf table is for, it’s a much smaller version of a cattle squeeze. Once you have squeezed the calf in to prevent it from moving but not tight enough to harm it, you can pull the unit unto its side and then the calf is in a flat position on their side. This may sound bad but think of it as an exam table for the calves. It brings it to just above the knee height of most adults which is easier to work on the animal and the bars have springs so you can release one to six of them to work on the animal without obstruction. 

The calves are generally worked up and anxious being without their cow moms who are in the adjoining pen and can kick and thrash about. Placing them in the calf table and then turning them on their sides relaxes them and it is safer for them and the humans working on them. Of course, like any tool you must work with them awhile before you get the swing of how it works. This was quite comical in the first year of using the calf table. After that first year its placement was key on having a pen around it for all the calves that escaped while we were trying to secure them.

I set out on my hike, and I noticed a handful of calves and their cow moms up in the tree line where the wild turkeys were following close behind them. I will leave it to your imagination as to what the turkeys were eating while in close pursuit of the cows. I followed the path alongside the creek and enjoyed the first signs of Spring. The daffodils in a wide variety of types were busting out everywhere and the tulip blades were just peeking through the ground. Unfortunately, the tulips would forever look like that because the deer at the flower buds the minute they began to blossom. For some reason, the deer did not like the daffodils or irises. 

The creek was brimming right to the top of the bank and the cattails were still green with light green buds on the top. As I came to the sharp bend in the creek and looked up ahead to the natural valley and hillside beyond there were the rest of the cows lounging on beds of green luscious grass while chewing their cud. It was a picture-perfect sight, and I took out my camera and began snapping pictures. When I had a few dozen snapshots of the beauty I began to leisurely walk back down the same path I had followed in. I did not have to turn around to notice that the cows were following me. It was early enough in the spring that the pastures did not fill their tummy’s yet, and they still depended on me to throw them out some hay each day.

Back at the barn I had finished throwing out a bale of alfalfa and as I did each feeding time examined each cow. I learned early on that this was the best way of preventing something small from becoming a full-fledged issue. The cows looked fine, the bull was in good form, the steers were getting fat and sassy and the calves looked healthy and spry. Then I did a double take. Tuffy, one of the calves, had a large scrape on his rump, and it was starting to form a patch over what looked to be a rather large gash. 

I called Richard and luck would have it he was making his way down the ranch’s driveway. He commented that if I could get Tuffy up to the chute area we could look at it there. He could not conceal the pleasure in his voice at being given an excuse to able to use that new calf table. Sometimes there is a fine line between a piece of equipment and a big toy.

As luck would have it Tuffy’s cow mom was a favorite, sweet, and docile cow, Noel, and it was not difficult to separate them out from the herd and make my way with them through the barnyard and up to the chute area. A little grain in a coffee can does wonders for persuading the cows from time to time. I am an amateur cow whisperer after all, and I need a few sneaky tricks to work the cows on my own.

We positioned the calf table at the end of the long chute that would normally lead them into a stock trailer but instead the calf would walk right into the calf table and the cow mom being too large to fit in to would just stand on the other side and offer comfort to her calf without getting in the way. This could not be a permanent placing unless we were never to trailer the cows off the property again. But for the first time it worked rather well although slightly off balance due to the uneven ground below it. It worked like a charm. Tuffy walked down the chute first with Noel behind him and we locked him into the calf table and rolled him to his side like we were pros. I think we were both feeling a little smug with our instant success at maneuvering the calf and calf table on our own without the whole team there.

To exam Tuffy’s rump we lowered two of the side bars and in doing so was perfectly centered and easy to see his scape. Richard began feeling around the odd shaped scrape and then directly on it with a look of puzzlement on his face. I inquired how bad was it. Tuffy didn’t seemed bothered by the examination. Richard said he did not know what it was. Something seemed off about what we thought was an injury. Then he felt some more all around the scraped area then putting his fingernails slightly under it. He shook his head and said it was not a scrape at all. It was a thick piece of pitch that was stuck to his hide. Try as we might with several different home remedies, we could not get the pitch of his hide. In the end we just had to leave the pitch there and hope it eventually fell off. We were rather thankful that nothing was wrong with Tuffy.

Then we had the dilemma of how to release Tuffy back to his cow mom. She was behind him and would not back up. If we up righted him and then let him proceed through the front of the calf squeeze, he would be free as a bird on the outside of the barnyard. Obviously, we had not given this placement of the calf table as much thought as we should have. In the end we let him free and hoped he wanted back with his cow mom more than freedom. Yes, cow mom, Noel, won. He was a momma’s boy. When Tuffy went to the livestock sale six months later he still had a piece of pitch stuck to his rump. 

As for me, I will never forget the first time we used the calf table but after hundreds of calves through it I honestly do not remember the last time we used it or why… I do remember to carry the WD40 and a can of yellow jacket repellent each time we head to use the calf table because it’s always squeaky and rusty from sitting outside exposed to the elements and the tubes are wonderfully warm and succulent for sustaining the yellow jackets.