Butchering Pearly

I'll repeat my warning I put up every time we butcher: DO NOT READ THIS POST if you are vegetarian or have a squeamish stomach. This post shows pictures of our heifer being butchered. I don't want anyone whining that they weren't adequately warned about the graphic nature of these photos.

Okay?

Okay. That said, today was the sad day we had our injured heifer Pearly butchered.

Normally I don't get sentimental over our livestock. When it's time to butcher a steer, it's no big deal. But this is the first time we've had an injury on the farm so severe that we couldn't let the animal live.

If you recall, Pearly cut her ankle on a sheet of roofing tin I carelessly left on the ground. The cut was so deep it severed her Achilles tendon. We've had her in the barn for the last week since she could barely hop around on three legs. Fortunately the mobile butchers were scheduled to be in our neighborhood today, so Pearly didn't have to suffer too long.

My normal morning routine (for the cow/calf pairs currently residing in the driveway) is to put their hay in a couple of wheelbarrows, then let the animals out one by one. Since I didn't want them in the vicinity when Pearly was butchered, this time I let the animals out, but didn't put out any hay. They milled about in confusion.

I wanted all the animals down in the pasture, out of sight of the barn. We haven't put the animals in the pasture yet this year because the grass isn't tall enough and we don't want them eating it down too quickly. But this was a special occasion. Once I put some hay in a wheelbarrow, they followed me readily enough.

A couple hours later, Potlatch Pack showed up. The business is run by Mel and Chance, an uncle/nephew team.

The first thing to do, of course, is the actual killing. Notice the quiet and respectful stance Chance takes as he approaches the animal. He keeps his rifle tucked out of sight until just before he aims.

These guys are experts. One shot -- that's it. Very quick, very humane.

They dragged her out of the barn and hoisted her up to drain the blood.

The men wear waterproof aprons and holsters with knives. They constantly sharpen the knives on a sharpener which also hangs from their belt.

Skinning. In their capable hands, this procedure takes only ten or fifteen minutes.

They use a modified chain saw to cut the carcass in half.

The men are constantly hosing themselves down, as well as their tools and the carcass. They keep everything very clean.

See that white sack? Sadly, it was as we suspected -- Pearly was quite pregnant. That's the fetus.

Hanging the carcass to finish skinning and finish cutting in half.

Into the truck, along with the carcasses from a neighbor's farm.

The men have barrels for putting unwanted organs and other parts, but they always empty the stomach because otherwise it would take up too much room. This is the half-digested hay from the stomach.

But how far along was the fetus?

The men have seen fetuses in endless stages of development. A cow's gestation is nine months and ten days. They estimated this one to be 7 1/2 months along. It was a girl. Notice the pearly-white hooves, just like her mom had when she was born.

In the end, the men buttoned up their equipment and left me with so little to clean up that I was done in two minutes. These guys are consummate professionals and it's no wonder their reputation as experts is widespread in this region. They took a sad situation and did the job quickly and cleanly. We're grateful they're here to do it.

I sometimes say this blog is to share with you the good, the bad, and the ugly about rural living. Today was a little bit of all three. The good is we will soon have meat in our freezer. The bad is we lost an otherwise healthy heifer. And the ugly is we lost an unborn calf as well. Such is life in the country.

Well crap

Well crap. Bad news.

I spoke to the vet this morning and told her about Pearly's injury. It didn't take a rocket scientist to confirm my fears: Pearly sliced her tendon. You've probably heard the term hamstrung? It's a crippling injury that, in livestock at least, is a death sentence.

You can see how she's pretty much on three legs. (We put her back in the barn shortly after I took this photo.) Without surgery and therapy, she'll stay on three legs. People can recover from being accidentally hamstrung -- cattle cannot.

And the pisser is, it's my fault. I saw that piece of sheet metal lying on the ground and it passed through my mind that I ought to pick it up before someone got injured... and then I didn't follow through.

So I called Potlatch Pack, the mobile butchers whose humane and efficient slaughter is legend in this area, and made an appointment for Monday. It breaks my heart to put a heifer in the freezer, especially one that is healthy and strong, but I guess it taught me a harsh lesson: picked up the damned hazards when I see them rather than putting it off.

The silver lining is we'll have some meat again. We're out at the moment, so it will be nice to have a full freezer.

For my vegetarian readers, expect a somewhat graphic post early next week. I'll put up sufficient warnings that no one is caught unawares.

Injuries on the homestead

Life is never dull around here. Suddenly we have a blooming crop of injured animals.

Ruby (one of our herd matrons and Victoria's mama) slipped on a wet board and sprained her right front leg or ankle. She's been limping for a week.

(Notice how her weight is on her left front leg.)

JJ, one of our barn cats, was attacked either by a coyote or another feral cat. (JJ is a formerly feral cat.) He got his leg ripped open something terrible.

This cat -- cripped in one paw and blind in one eye when he adopted us -- is a tough old guy and is recovering nicely despite the dire appearance of the wound.

Worst of all, Pearly (Matilda's oldest calf with us) sliced open her ankle on a piece of sheet metal. The wound is serious. She's been on three legs for several days now. Most of the time cows can recover from awful-looking injuries quite well, and at first the wound didn't look terribly bad. Bloody, yes, but not serious.

(Slice is on bottom of right leg.)

A bleeding wound is actually a good thing in a way (as long as it's not bleeding too heavily), as it helps keep the wound clean.

We've been keeping her in the barn so she doesn't get mud in the wound.

But after several days of little change in Pearly's leg (except it stopped bleeding, of course), we're starting to get concerned. There's no swelling or apparent infection, but she's not putting much of any weight on the leg. We're wondering if the cut went deeper than we thought.

Thoughts of putting her in the freezer have crossed our minds...

At any rate we'll be calling the vet tomorrow.

It's a girl!

Well after all that fussing and worrying, Matilda had her calf without us even seeing the birth. Grrrr.


I mean, really. I had just checked on her around 2 pm (Sunday). She was lying on the ground, chewing her cud, no obvious contractions or distress. Not fifteen minutes later, Older Daughter comes tearing into the house, shouting "The calf is here!" Honestly - couldn't she at least wait for us to get there? How inconsiderate.


So at least we saw the new calf moments after she was born. Yes, she. It's a little heifer with hooves as white as snow. Younger Daughter had planned to name her Bessie, but as we watched her struggle to her feet for the first time, someone said, "Look at those hooves! They're pearly white!" We decided that was a splendid name - Pearly...though the hooves are now reddish brown, just like the rest of her. She looks so much like Gimli (our red Dexter bull) that it's astounding she came out of a Jersey cow.

The birth turned into a neighborhood party. In great excitement, the girls called all the neighbors and about twenty showed up, and most of the kids stayed to enjoy a spontaneous game of Obstacle Course in the driveway. What a day.




Trying to stand and making hash of it.








Enchanted kids.


Is that udder massive or what?


Happy cow.


The other cows knew something was up, but weren't quite sure what. The red bull, Gimli, is the calf's father - and boy does she look like him!


We had quite the audience since everyone in the neighborhood had been waiting for the Big Event...


Searching, but not quite sure for what...


Since she came off a commercial dairy and was never allowed to keep a calf, this little girl will be special for Matilda. I love the low, cozy "moo" cows give at this time - a sound only heard with a new calf. (The rest of the time they bellow like something out of Jurassic Park - in fact, that's how I half-jokingly refer to our place: Jurassic Farm.)


Our Dexter matron Jet wonders what all the commotion is about.


The chickens loved all the goopy mess left behind...


...and curious, they hovered and clucked around the newcomer as well.


Our neighbor Ethan can claim to be the first to pet Pearly as she stumbled toward him, still wet.


Our neighbor Miss Calamity meets the calf.


As you can imagine, Matilda was pretty thirsty!



Nursing is a trick because Matilda's bag hangs so low. Those who know cows know that Matilda has a poor udder attachment, but we have to work with what we have. Matilda wasn't bred for superb udder attachment, merely milk production.


Younger Daughter fell in love with Pearly right away and wants to be the one to lead-train her.


Here are four of the neighborhood kids, watching Matilda and Pearly tucked into their stall for the night.