The great escape

I didn't sleep well last night.

That's because just as I was dropping off to sleep, I heard thundering hooves in the woods as the livestock galloped around and crashed through bushes and bellowed. Such activity always causes farmers to clutch their hearts with fear. Predators?

Don was still awake but since the downstairs windows were closed, he didn't hear the activity. I debated getting up, but since the noise denoted excitement rather than fear or pain, I stayed in bed. Trouble was, I didn't sleep worth beans because it's kinda like when your kids are awake and you lay in bed dimly noting their activities (mothers know what I'm talking about) -- sleep wouldn't come.

So this morning, after a rotten five hours' sleep, I stumbled out of bed around 4 am. It was barely light out, but a yearling was bellowing so I booted up and walked down into the woods to see if anyone was dead or injured.

I heard, rather than saw, Samson the bull. IN THE WOODS. He's not supposed to be in the woods, he's supposed to be IN HIS PEN. Crud.

Sure enough, I walked back toward the barn and saw this.

Well, nothing could be done at that hour of the morning. The bull pen would obviously require fixing, and the bull wasn't going anywhere.

Indeed, he was having the time of his life. Girls! He was surrounded by lots and lots of GIRLS!

He strutted around in a comically manly fashion, lord of his domain.

Lord of his harem, too.

After Don was up and had his coffee, he commenced the repairs. Samson sure did a number on the pen's 2x6s. Never underestimate the strength of a bull's muscles -- or his hormones.

Don sistered patches to the boards to strengthen them (since we didn't have any spare 2x6s on hand).

It was a good, sturdy patch.

Then -- the pièce de résistance -- a double strand of hot wire to provide added incentive to keep Samson away from the fence. Oh the indignity!

After the repairs were done, we didn't rush the bull back in, but instead waited for a convenient opportunity when the animals had naturally wandered into the feedlot adjacent to the pen. That opportunity came in the early afternoon, and we calmly encouraged Samson and a random cow into the pen. The random cow turned out to be Raven, whose calf Chester we butchered in April. Raven was an excellent candidate to share the pen with the bull and get bred in the process.

Here Samson looks a little down in the mouth to be back in his pen, but honestly I think he was glad and/or relieved. He settled right down with Raven and we haven't heard a peep of protest (sometimes the Big Wide World can be a scary place). I barely missed a chance to take a darling shot of him nuzzling Raven with affection.

The whole purpose of the bull pen is to keep bully-boy's hormones in check since we have many heifers who are far too young to breed. (A heifer shouldn't be bred earlier than about fifteen months, which puts her at about two years of age when she gives birth.) As it is, I'm worried that Amy, Matilda's calf, was the hot young babe in heat that convinced Samson to crash through the fencing last night. Amy is only nine months old, so she may be due for a shot of Lutalyse (an abortifant) to make sure she wasn't bred.

Meanwhile we decided to move the rest of the herd from the woods down to the left-hand pasture, which has grown nice and lush in the last few weeks. We opened the gate invitingly.

Don opened up the gate to the feedlot...

...then stood back as the herd came thundering through.

Within about thirty seconds, everyone was down in the pasture. Wheee! Fresh grass!

Once again things are quiet and peaceful on the homestead. And hopefully I'll get a good night's sleep tonight.

Imminent calf?

On Sunday afternoon as I was cleaning Matilda's pen, I noticed something interesting.

Matilda, for my newer readers, is our Jersey cow. All our other animals are purebred Dexters, but I fell in love with our neighbor's Jersey a few years ago so we got one of our own in November 2008. We had a nightmare case of mastitis when we got her from a commercial dairy north of us, but she has become my all-time favorite cow because of her sweet disposition.

Anyway, our bull Gimli bred Matilda last April. Wrong time of year, since that would mean a calf would be born mid-February. So last August we had the vet give her a shot of Lutalyse (an abortant) so she could be re-bred at a better time.

Now I'm thinking the Lutalyse didn't "take." That's because on Sunday I noticed Matilda was suddenly bagged up.

I haven't been milking Matilda for the last few months out of pure laziness. Pearly, her calf, was taking most of the rich milk and it was rather nice not to be tied to a twice-a-day milking schedule that I had before Pearly was born. As a result, Matilda's udder was flaccid.

But no more. Suddenly it's huge and turgid (bagged up), which only happens in the final weeks before birth.

This morning when I let Matilda and Pearly out of their pen, I noticed a string of mucus hanging from her backside. Another indicator.

The reason this takes me so much by surprise is Matilda doesn't look near as pregnant as she did last year. I mean, last year she was massive. This year, no.

Concerned, I called the vet and asked what effect a Lutalyse shot could have on a calf if the cow doesn't abort. Could the calf be born deformed? The vet said no, Lutalyse wouldn't harm a fetus if the cow didn't abort.

So time will tell. At least our winter weather at the moment is mild with no snow on the ground, and we always tuck Matilda (and Pearly) into her pen at night, so she'll have protection if she does indeed have a calf in a couple weeks.

I'll keep everyone posted.

Vaccinating cattle

The vet came today.

It's always a big occasion when the vet comes.  Farm calls are expensive so we try to get as much done in one fell swoop as possible.

Today we needed to get Bang's shots for two heifers as well as Lutalyse shots for a yearling heifer and Matilda, our Jersey.

But before we could welcome the vet, we needed to get ready.  This included a couple of stout O-rings to hold ropes attached to thrashing animals...

...as well as adding a removable board above the barn gate to keep panicked animals from jumping the gate.  Don did these in the morning.

Then we borrowed some neighbor boys for extra "bodies" and started herding the cattle from the pasture into the corral.  Then we picked off the ones we didn't need and shooed the two calves into the barn.  Let's just say this was easier said than done.

Here's Smokey, Ruby's calf, looking highly suspicious.

I managed to get a rope around her neck, to her immense disgust.

We needed to fit her with a halter.  Here's our basket of halters.  Surely one will fit?

No such luck.  Don had to take the closest-fitting one into the shop...

...and burn three more holes in order to tighten it enough.

After a minor rodeo, I got the halter on the calf and attached a rope to it to make it easier to catch her.  As it turned out, the halter was still too big and came off her nose.  Oh well.

Next came Raven, now just a bit over a year old.

Surprisingly, she was a whole lot easier to handle than Smokey.  I fit her with a halter and rope without much trouble.

Make a note: always remember to wear mud boots, not my new thrift-store sneakers, into the barn.

When the vet arrived, the first thing we did was give Matilda a shot of Lutalyse.  Lutalyse is an abortant.  After her ill-timed heat cycle last April, we needed to abort the fetus or we'd have a calf born in January, which would almost guarantee a dead calf in our harsh Idaho winters.  We prefer to breed our cows in late August or early September so the calves are born in late spring.  This will be easier to control once we build a bull pen for Gimli.

But meanwhile poor Matilda needed a shot of Lutalyse.  She was not amused.

Then it was Raven's turn.  Raven also needed a shot of Lutalyse, not only because we don't want a calf born in winter, but also because she's still too young to have a calf.  We like to breed our heifers at about 15 months of age, so they'll be just about two years old when they have their first calf.  Once she aborts the fetus, she'll go into a heat cycle and Gimli can breed her.  This way her calf will be born next spring when she's about two years old.

But Raven needed more than a Lutalyse shot.  She also needed her Bang's shot, which also requires an ear tag, and ear tattoo, and a blood sample (because she's older than a year).  Here the vet is trying to draw blood.  Raven didn't cooperate, so after more rodeo antics the vet got the blood out of a neck vein.

After this it was Smokey's turn.  All Smokey needed was a Bang's shot, her ear tattoo, and her ear clip.  Sorry, we didn't get any photos of this because it was, er, rather a lively event.

That's it for vet calls!  We should be good until next year.