The Newborn

The Newborn

It was early morning, and the temperature outside was at a record-breaking low. Ice hung from the shingled roof of our old three-bedroom house like clear pointed daggers. The frost had covered everything in white the night before and each step I took upon the frozen ground sounded like the crunching of corn flakes.

As I neared the main corral, I could hear the cows bellowing. My first job each morning was to round them up for the 'morning milking'. It was just one of my chores on the dairy, but I didn’t mind; each day was like an adventure. I walked along the fence-line with my dog, Honey, an Australian Shepherd--best darn cow-dog in the whole world.

“Get ‘em up, girl,” I said to her, while making a circling motion with my arm. “Get those cows!” She took-off running across the icy ground, chasing and barking at over two-hundred milking cows.

In the cold, early morning air, you could see the hot breath coming out of the cows like the exhaust from the tailpipe of an old car. Sometimes the stubborn animals would just plain refuse to get up off the ground, but Honey would run to each one, nipping at them, until they were forced to stand and move with the rest of the herd. She’d get every cow from even the farthest corner of the corral. Gosh, I loved that dog. She always saved me a lot of steps.

As they lumbered toward me, I could see icicles hanging from their belly-hair. Their tails and legs were covered in mud and manure. They would all need cleaning before getting milked, and unfortunately that was another one of my jobs. I tell you, there’s nothing more painful in all the world, then getting slapped across the face by a cow’s cold wet tail.

I heard Honey barking nervously at a cow. I slowly approached, calling the dog away. A fat, black and white heifer lay flat on her side and made no attempt to get away from the pestering dog. Her eyes rolled up at me as I came nearer and she slowly struggled to kick. She was having a calf. She was breathing hard and I could see two small legs sticking out from under her tail. Honey barked again. Something was wrong. Even the dog could sense it. The cow was definitely having trouble; she couldn’t get her calf out. I had seen this happen once before. The calves are birthed head first, but sometimes they come out backwards. When they do, they usually come out dead. I had no idea how long the poor cow had been suffering. The best thing to do was to go get help and I took off running for the barn. Honey ran ahead of me just as if she knew what I was thinking. I ran for over a hundred yards before the dog’s barking brought my dad out of the barn to see what all the commotion was about.

“A cow’s down,” I yelled to him. “She’s trying to have a calf!” My dad climbed the fence and headed for the corral.

“The dog found her over in the corner,” I said. “She couldn’t get up.”

“Her back legs are probably paralyzed from all the strain,” he said. “How much of the calf is showing?”

“Not much,” I said, “just the feet and legs.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said. “You better go get a rope from the shed. I’ll see if I can get her up.”

I ran to the shed next to the barn. Grabbing one of the ropes that hung by the saddles and bridles, I hurried back to help my dad. I ran as fast as I could, feeling the cold air burn inside my chest. I felt so worried about the calf; it just didn’t seem right that it should have to die. I was totally out of breath when I got back. The cow was now sitting up, but still couldn’t stand. My dad had his sleeve rolled up to his shoulder and I saw hot steam coming off his bare arm.

“I checked the position of the calf and got it turned around the right way,” he said. “But there’s definitely something wrong. We’ve gotta get it out of there or the mother will die.”

“Do you think the calf is still alive?” I asked, anxiously.

“I can’t tell for sure, Bill.”

He studied me taking my measure, trying to determine if I was old enough to handle all this. I was only thirteen and still green behind the ears.

“Look,” he said, gently, “there’s always the chance the calf could still be alive. I just don’t know how long she’s been in labor, probably most the night. I’ll do everything I can to save them both, but cows are a whole lot more expensive than calves, understand? The mother is the main concern right now.” He slapped me on the back. “Let’s do what we can to save her, son.”

I watched as he slipped the rope around the calf’s ankles and cinched it up tight.

“I want you to help me pull the calf out,” he said, intently. “We can’t pull it straight out. We have to pull down in a natural angle. Hopefully, the cow will help us.” My dad showed me the right way to pull the rope.

“Slow and steady,” he said. “Keep constant tension on the rope.”

My dad got behind the cow, and reached in his arm trying to free the calf. I was down on the frozen ground pulling with all my might. We were trying to save a life. The cow immediately started to struggle, wanting to stand.

“Stop pulling,” my dad said, “let her get up.”

With the calf’s legs dangling behind, the cow finally managed to rise. Her head hung low and she was having difficulty staying on all four feet.

“Okay, now’s our chance,” said my dad, grabbing hold of the rope. “Pull hard!”

We both laid into the rope in a life or death tug-of-war with the cow. Suddenly, the head emerged, but it wasn’t moving. It looked dead.

“Easy now, not too fast.”

The calf started sliding out and the mother cow bellowed loudly. Next came a whooshing kind of sound and the baby calf hit the ground. My dad hurried over to it releasing the rope from its front legs. He reached down into the calf’s mouth pulling out phlegm and trying to clear its airway. The mother cow, standing on uncertain legs, turned around to see her new baby for the first time, then began licking it all over. The calf made a soft coughing sound. It was alive. The calf lifted its unsteady head and shook it like a wet dog coming out of water. He looked so dazed and confused I just couldn’t keep from grinning. My dad was smiling too, then looked at me and ruffled up my hair.

“Nice job,” he said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Thanks, Dad. That was really scary! I can’t believe the calf is alive. You think there’s any way I can keep this one and raise it?”

“Well, that’ll take a lot of extra work, you know.”

“I know,” I said, looking down and moving the dirt around with my boot. “But I’d still have time to do it if I started my chores a little bit sooner.”

“I tell ya what,” he said, seriously. “If you can still do all your regular chores, you can keep this calf. But I want you to join 4-H and enter him into competition. I have a feeling this calf just might win you some ribbons at the county fair.”

“Really, Dad? Oh, boy! I can do it! I promise! I can do it!”

Before nightfall, that calf was already up and standing, nursing on his mother like there was no tomorrow. I sat on the fence and watched them for a time. I felt that calf was really something special. My Dad had felt it too. It had a beautiful black and white coat with face markings that looked different from any other animal on the dairy. Somehow, I felt strongly connected to this cow and calf. I knew that my part in saving its life would remain with me always. I learned that life should never be taken for granted, and sometimes it’s the small things that people do that keep it all going.

When that calf was finally weaned from its mother, I took care of it night and day. Six months later I had him entered at the county fair. I won a red second-place ribbon for the best looking animal that year. I’ve still got that ribbon proudly displayed on my wall.