The reunion: a cow tale

Way back in April Cliff put up electric fence to keep the horses off the lush grass; he put a gate in that cows could go through, but horses could not.  Bonnie's momma didn't raise a fool, and all I had to do was lure her through the gate with a can of feed one time; from then on, she entered and exited through that gate.  
Her son Clyde, however, never figured it out.  So while his mom goes to graze the tall stuff that would founder horses, Clyde nips short grass with the horses.  
Cliff got the hay baled today, and started putting it in the barn; he'll finish that task tomorrow before he goes to work.  At some point this afternoon, I asked him, "Have you seen either of the cows?"  
"No," he answered, "but Bonnie's in one of her two cool, shady places out back, I'll guarantee you."  
"What about Clyde?  Have you seen or heard him today?"  
When Clyde starts wanting a sip of milk, he usually bellows at Mom.  She's never in a hurry, but she loves her big old baby and eventually comes up to comfort him with some nice, warm milk.  
Somewhere around four this evening, I heard Clyde bawling and breathed a sigh of relief.  The cows are alive and well.  
A couple hours later, as I was sitting in the cool of the air conditioner, I heard Bonnie bawling over and over.  This could only mean that she didn't know where her calf was.  
In case your wondering:  yes indeed... I know my cows' voices.  They sound nothing alike when they moo.  
I'm still moving around pretty slowly with my gimpy knee, but I figured I'd go call for Clyde and reunite the pair.  Then I got a thought.  
I haven't milked Bonnie since my surgery, which was three weeks ago today.  If she hadn't seen her calf since morning, perhaps there would be enough milk for me to steal some before their reunion!  I hurried into the house, set up the jar and strainer, and headed out with the milk bucket.  Sure enough, I could tell by looking at Bonnie's udder that she had plenty.  Finally, some decent milk that doesn't taste all watered down!  Maybe I'll even use some cream on our strawberries tomorrow.  
I came in with a gallon of milk in my bucket, strained it and put it away, and then went over the hill calling Clyde, who came running and bucking and bawling as fast as he could.  Bonnie was bawling back at him, but by this time she had developed laryngitis from all the vocalizing; so he couldn't hear her from a distance.  Oh, and I did leave two teats untouched for Clyde.  Not that he needs milk at this stage of his life.  

They finally got together.  Clyde only has a couple of weeks to enjoy this pleasure; then we'll either butcher him or take him to the sale barn.  If we butcher him, we're going to have to get another small freezer.  

The elephant next door

You know how folks refer to "the elephant in the room," right?  It's that topic, problem, or person about which everyone is aware, but that nobody wants to admit to or discuss.  We all have at least one, don't we?  
I'm pretty liberal with pictures taken on our property.  This is a wonderful place to be, especially since we moved back here into the trailer house.  Especially this time of year.  
However, I do a lot of picture-editing.  There's a house next door, built only three or four years ago, that I crop out of many pictures.  I removed it from the right-hand side of my new header picture, as a matter of fact.   
Why?  Well, the siding is blowing off the backside of it, for one thing.  Oh, and the yard is bare dirt.  No grass has ever grown there; if weeds get too tall, it is bladed it back to bare dirt.  Areas just across the fence from us are covered by very tall weeds.  
We bade goodbye to one such elephant when we got rid of the old rental trailer.  There is no remedy for this one.  Thank goodness for the ability to crop pictures. 
If you ever wondered why zoning laws are enacted, you can stop wondering:  Now you know.  

Speaking of elephants, Clyde is steadily growing.  Sometimes I'm asked, "Isn't he old enough to wean?" 
Of course he is, but if I weaned him I'd either have to milk twice a day (you've GOT to be kidding) or dry up the cow and buy my milk (I really like our raw milk, even though we don't use much).  Clyde takes care of the milk until I need some; then I remove him from his mommy overnight and milk Bonnie in the morning.  I milk once or twice a week.    
I've been asked, "Won't his mother wean him?"  
I have never yet seen a cow that would wean her calf by her own choice, but maybe it has happened somewhere, sometime.  Sir Loin, Bonnie's last calf, nursed until we hauled him away at the age of one year.  
Clyde will nurse until the end of June; then we'll take him straight to the butcher shop and Bonnie can rest for a few weeks until she has her next calf, around mid-August.  During that time, we'll buy our milk.  By the way, I love to milk cows!  I just don't want to have to do it every day.  

Until that time, Clyde remains his mommy's baby.  

Ideally, I'd love to wean Clyde now and put the new calf (Jody) on Bonnie; however, that would require a separate pen with a source of water for Clyde, and that's just too much trouble.  So I'm feeding Jody store-bought milk replacer.  

Life is good for Bonnie-the-Jersey-Cow

She eats until she's full, grazing for all she's worth.  Cows can put down a lot of grass in a short time because they don't chew their food; they swallow it whole and it goes to the rumen, which can hold up to fifty gallons.  

Once the food she's eaten is nice and soft, it goes to the recticulum, where it's softened and digested even further and is formed into small wads of cud.  Each cud returns to the cow's mouth and is chewed forty to fifty times, then swallowed.  The food has two more stomachs to go through, each one softening and digesting the food a little more.  
This time of year, with all the green grass Bonnie is eating, we won't talk about what comes out the other end; sufficient to say it's pretty liquified and nasty.  

Bonnie loves this time of year, and I think she's secretly glad her stupid son won't enter into the pen with the new grass.  

Sometimes it's nice for a mom to get a break from the kid.  

Clyde doesn't like the situation much, but we all have to grow up sometime.  


  

Stupid calf

I reported on April 4 that we put electric fence around the tender new grass, and fixed a gate that would allow the cows to enter while keeping the horses out.  In fact, we have restricted the horses from a great deal of the grass on our forty-plus acres, due to their gluttony which could lead to founder.  
It was no trouble at all to get Bonnie into the enclosure the first time; I walked through the gate, shook a can of sweet feed at her, and she followed me with little hesitation.  This ain't her first rodeo.  From that time on, she has entered and exited at her pleasure.  
Clyde, on the other hand, refused to follow his mother.  He stays out grazing with the horses, and if he decides he needed a drink of milk, he'd bawl at Bonnie until she joins him on the outside.  
A couple of days ago, I got Cliff to help me and we literally forced Clyde into the electric-fenced area by crowding him through the opening.  He resisted for all he was worth, but we finally got him in where he grazed that tall, succulent grass and clover like there was no tomorrow; I figured the problem was solved.
Oh, if only it were that easy.  Once in, he refused to go through the gate to get out.  There's no source of water in there, and I doubt he's getting enough milk to take care of all his hydration needs.  
So, Cliff and I tricked him out of the pen (very much against his will, I might add).  
Here's how it stands as of this morning:  

    There's Bonnie, in the electric-fenced enclosure.

There's Clyde, out there where it's slim pickin's.  

I wouldn't mind, except that Clyde is our next beef; I'd really like to have him on that tall, lush grass and clover, growing for all he's worth.   
Stupid calf.

Stubborn calf

picture taken this morning

Cattle, like people, have their own personalities.  Last year, Bonnie's calf (Sir Loin) was gentle and cooperative.  If I needed to put him up for the night so I could milk his mother the next morning, I simply opened a sliding door and gently tapped him with the cattle prod; I could guide him as if he were a trained ox:  he'd walk in, and I'd shut the door.  He and his mother would bellow at one another at times while they were separated, but for the most part, they knew the drill and accepted it.  
I don't think cows are intelligent enough to reason things out, but Bonnie acts like she remembers how we took Sir Loin away from her, and therefore is over-protective of Clyde.  They are seldom more than six feet apart.  
I call them up the night before I want to milk Bonnie and shut them in the small lot so they can't run out; then I open the sliding door to the stall.  The first two times I did this, I was able to get Clyde into the stall without too much effort.  The third time, he went inside but ran out before I could get the door shut.  I'm not as fast as I used to be.  
Last night, I chased him around and around the small lot until I finally realized there was no way he was going into the stall.  I finally drove Bonnie in, and he followed.  It was nip and tuck getting her out without him following, though.  If Iris-De-Dog stayed at Clyde's heels a little better, she could possibly help me. But just as I think she's doing things correctly, she'll run in a circle around the calf and chase him in the opposite direction from where I want him to go.  
I have to lock Bonnie out of the small lot this year once the calf is put up, because she has figured out how to slide the door open with her head and let her calf out.  This morning she practically broke down a side door to the barn because I was too slow in getting ready to milk her.  
Maybe this weekend I'll have Cliff help me make a video of a sixty-six-year-old woman chasing a spry young calf around.  I'll bet you folks would get a good laugh out of it.       
On another note, I'm pretty sure I have rats in the barn.  I saw something last night out of the corner of my eye that was much bigger than a mouse.  I can stand an occasional mouse, but rats terrify me.  The war is on.
   

good stuff

Remember how concerned I was, back in early-to-mid-July, that I might not get any tomatoes at all?  As it turned out, I got plenty to can, and we've had all we've wanted to eat fresh.  

The plants look awful, but I'm still getting all the tomatoes we can use, even though they aren't the prettiest tomatoes I ever raised.  

Boy, do those plants look awful.  But I brought in tomatoes this morning...

and these should be ready tomorrow.  
Yesterday I turned Bonnie and Clyde out into the big pasture.  After Cliff went to work, I went to check on them; they were in one of Bonnie's favorite hideaways.  

Clyde was lying down, but when Iris and I went around the tree so I could take a picture from a different angle, he got up.

And huddled up next to his mommy.  This is the kind of behavior that will keep him safe.  They came up to the lot last night and I shut them in; this morning I let Bonnie in the barn to see if she needed milking.  One quarter appeared to be pretty full; I milked almost a gallon out of that one quarter!  
One thing I haven't mentioned is that Bonnie developed mastitis in the off front quarter (by "off" I mean on the side I don't normally milk); that quarter is pretty much not giving anything now.  If I were a dairyman I would be upset.  As it is, Bonnie still gives enough milk for three or four calves.  Besides, I'm thinking she will be at less risk for milk fever next time, since this cuts her production by 25%.  

Out in the pasture again

Last Sunday I tried turning Clyde out into the pasture with Bonnie.  It didn't work so well, because he wouldn't answer her unhappy bellowing when she misplaced him.  Then there was the simple fact that she MISPLACED him.   
For the past few mornings I've been separating the two after I milk Bonnie, turning her out to graze in the big pasture while Clyde stays at the barn.  She would reluctantly leave, mooing over her shoulder in between bites of grass, finally settling down to eating quietly for an hour or two; Clyde would then curl up in a corner of his pen and rest until his mom came back with a full belly.  
This morning I noticed that when Bonnie was out grazing, Clyde answered her repeatedly when she bawled.  This was a sign, to me, that he was ready to take on the big world again.  If she misplaces him and calls for him, he'll answer.   If he wanders off on his own and misses Mama, he will call and she'll come running.

Click on the picture and you will see them in the distance.  When I took this shot, Clyde was actually frolicking around his mom, trying to get her to butt heads with him.  
This weekend, Cliff intends to seed the ground you see lying fallow with seed that will become permanent pasture.  I'll be so glad to see it green again, instead of brown.  Because he needs someplace to put his 1855 to work, he'll probably tear up the sod on the point to play with for the next year.  

Calf disappeared

Not to worry; I found him.  
It's been a week since Bonnie had her calf, and I decided to turn them out into the big pasture where Bonnie could get better quality grazing and she and her calf would have lots of shade trees where they could hang out and cool off.  Cliff asked me what my hurry was, and I told him, "No hurry; I'd just like her to have better pasture."  
"I don't see what they're hurting in the pen," he said.  
Turning them out, I watched to see that the horses didn't try anything with the new calf, but they were mainly interested in getting into the pen they've been locked out of for three weeks.  
A couple hours later, Cliff and I took our walk; toward the end of that, we found Bonnie in one of her favorite hideaways, chewing her cud.  Alas, no Clyde was evident.  I noticed Bonnie kept her gaze in the one certain direction at all times, so I figured I'd go in that direction until I found the calf.  Iris was with me, and her presence always makes the cow nervous.  
I'd walked several yards when Bonnie got nervous and decided to follow me.  I kept walking, and pretty soon she started lowing for her calf.  Then the lowing turned to bellowing.  I was looking to my right, figuring the calf was in the tall weeds and brush along the fence.  Cliff got tired of this nonsense and headed for the house.  
When the calf is older and wiser, he'll have learned to answer his mom's bawling; now, however, he only bawls if he's hungry and she isn't in sight.  
I noticed all the ditches and ravines along the east fence-line where a calf might get into trouble, even a strong, week-old calf, and silently cursed myself for not listening to Cliff.  
I gave up the hunt, figuring eventually Clyde would answer his mom and they would re-unite; I headed west, away from the fence, and found myself looking at Clyde.  He wasn't hidden at all, but was curled up comfortably in the full sun.  
I tried driving them back to the barn, but Bonnie knew my plan, and turned and ran in the opposite direction.  I was getting hot out there and it was almost time to cook dinner, so I gave up the chase.  
Just a while ago, with dinner over, I took my stock prod and went looking for the pair again.  They were in the shade, not so far from where I had left them before.  This time Bonnie allowed herself to be herded straight in the direction of the barn.  I wondered what had caused her change in attitude; turns out she wasn't thinking about going to the barn, she was headed to the waterer.  She drank deeply, and while she drank, Clyde went through the big gate into the pen; with her thirst quenched, Bonnie followed.  
For a few days, at least, I think I'll keep the calf in the stall at night and allow Bonnie access to the big pasture if she wants to go out there.  During the day, they can both stay in the big lot where I can keep an eye on Clyde.