Animal stories, Farm Life, Uncategorized, Uvie Farm

Simple, this living business

I fill a bucket with hot water to take up to the yard. Demi Og’s new baby will be hungry. I left him penned with his mother overnight. Born yesterday morning, he didn’t feed all the first day. It went like this:- (slow fade…)
He was ready to get to his feet within half an hour of birth – she, raging with hormones, knocks him over as if uncertain whether to lick him all over or kebab him. When she does finally allow him to his feet, and he goes for the tit, she turns to face him like a threat: no access to milk bar for junior.
I herd them along the field into the yard so as to keep a closer eye; she leads off, he follows on what must seem a marathon for legs a few hours old. As he follows, the udder beomes available so he closes in.
She kicks him in the head.
Every time she feels his inquisition on her flank, she lashes out in irritation.
At the yard, I decide to intervene – not my favourite option: left to themselves they will probably get it right – but I have an opportunity to work her into the handling crate. This means kidnapping the calf and bundling him down the race to the crate and crawling out before she can catch up. Only she doesn’t follow.
Unsettled by the newness of everything that has occurred she stops halfway into the race and calls him back, only lurching down the steel avenue when little Holly and Alice come over to inspect the newcomer. They are delighted at the new member of the family, nuzzling and licking him – finally jealousy drives the new mother towards him and I catch her in the crate.
Where she stands quietly. I can’t believe it: she has been anything but quiet since first thing and now, trapped, estranged from her baby, she is quiet. She doesn’t even twitch when I reach for the nearest teat and offer it to her hungry son.
Who refuses it- and continues to invest all his energy in pulling away from the lifegiving udder while I insert a teat, squirt milk on his nose, rub his throat, coat milk on my finger, part fill a bottle and offer that. All to no good.
Finally, both of us exhausted, I strip out the milk from all four teats to avoid infection, keeping the cholosterum rich liquid for later, and release both animals into the yard.
He goes straight to the the teat.
She kicks him in the head.
I pen them in: they will spend the night hours together and in the morning he will be very, very hungry.
And so he is- as I approach with the bucket of warm water and drop the bottle of first milk into it in preparation for the next step in the campaign- very hungry.
He heads straight for the udder; she stands still while he feeds. Couldn’t be simpler.
I watch them longer than I need- before attending to the other animals.

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