poor calves

When Cliff and I went for our walk in the pasture this morning, Secret, my Jersey heifer, ran alongside us on the other side of the electric fence. This isn't normal behavior, but we shrugged and decided it was cute.

"Look, she wants to take a walk with us." Of course her little buddy, Meatloaf, was right behind her; only he wasn't running as fast.

We went on with our walk, and when we came back beside their fenced-off pasture, here came Secret again, running, and proceeded following us again.

"That's really strange," Cliff said.

The wheels started turning in my mind, and I asked, "They have water, don't they?"

The calves drink from an in-ground waterer that doesn't freeze, but we check it once in awhile, just in case.

"You know," Cliff said, "When I had to go through their pen with a big bale of hay, I shut them behind the barn so they wouldn't get out; I hope I opened that gate when I was done."

It turns out he had not opened the gate, and the calves had been shut away from water for over forty-eight hours. You should have seen them run to the waterer when they were turned loose; they were still drinking as we headed to the house!

We both feel horrible about it, of course. I'm just glad Secret told us, in the only way she knew how, what she needed. She finally communicated her need to us long enough that we understood. If she hadn't, both calves could have died from thirst, right in the middle of winter. Cliff had been tossing their alfalfa hay across the fence to them, having no idea they were without access to water.

Cliff said, "Well, obviously she knows who to ask for help, when she's in distress."

That's better than some humans I know.