Little Primo becomes a steer

Since Primo was born last Wednesday, we've kept him and his mama Shadow in the corral. This was partially to give the baby a bit more protection against potential predators; but mostly it was to keep him handily close for when it came time to turn him into a steer.

We usually wait about five to seven days before castrating a calf, to allow the testicles to fully descend. In the old days when we used a vet, it was a nightmare of roping the little baby to the ground and slicing out the gonads. Nowadays we use a bander which causes no pain, no trauma, and is over literally within seconds.

On Tuesday, we pushed Primo into a pen and put a rope around his neck to keep him in one spot. I straddled him and lifted his hind legs off the ground. Don gently pulled down on the hair on the scrotum and fit the bander over the testicles, then released the band. Took -- maybe -- five seconds. Then we released Primo back with Shadow within two minutes of putting him in the pen. I tell ya, these banders are wonderful.

There was no longer any reason to keep Shadow penned up, so after keeping them in the corral for another hour (just to watch Primo and make sure he was okay), we opened the gate and let the baby venture into the big wide world.

As soon as the rest of the herd discovered this, of course, they came rushing over to make his acquaintance. Poor Shadow was suddenly in "protective" mode once again. Don't misunderstand, no one had any intention of hurting Primo, but Shadow is still a bit hormonal.

Shadow felt compelled to remind everyone who was Primo's mama.

She kept a watchful guard on him.

Within a few minutes the excitement was over. Primo wandered off to explore the woods (with Shadow dancing attendance) and everyone went back to their business. Primo is now a member of the herd.

Welcome Primo

Early this morning, around 5:30 am, I heard a commotion among the herd near the bull pen. It's the kind of commotion that denoted excitement, not fear. I wasn't entirely surprised when I walked out and saw a calf.

The baby belonged to Shadow -- who, if you remember, surprised us with her calf last year, little Ninja.

Shadow, still in the hormonally-deranged phase that happens right after giving birth, was distressed that so many others wanted to see the baby.

The baby was on his feet, but still wet -- and we weren't sure if he'd had his first critical drink of colostrum either. Shadow had not yet dropped the placenta, so I'm estimating the baby was born around 5 am.

Cows just loving having newborn calves in the herd.

But suddenly Shadow -- who, as I said, was still hormonally-deranged -- got into a rip-roaring fight with Sparky. They went back and forth, bashing heads together, and the calf got knocked off his feet. Fearing he would be trampled, I didn't waste any time -- I scooped up the calf and hauled him into the corral and closed the gates. The poor little guy stood in a daze, swaying on his feet (he wasn't too steady yet) while Shadow and Sparky continued to whale on each other on the edge of the woods.

Other animals milled around near the gate, watching the newcomer.

Meanwhile I broke up the fight between Shadow and Sparky, but Shadow took off into the woods. I knew what was coming: she would wander around for a bit, then return to where she'd last seen her calf, but not know how to find him (remember, cows aren't bred for brains).

The baby waited patiently. "Are you my mother?"

Don and Younger Daughter were still asleep during all this, of course. So when Shadow came back to where she'd given birth, looking for her baby, I tried but failed to get her into the corral with the calf (who was by then curled up in a corner, sleeping.)

Later, when Younger Daughter got up, she assumed Gate Duty on the corral while I went looking for Shadow. I found her down in the woods in a dense grove of bushes and trees, eating the placenta. It's a revolting thing to watch, but it's instinctive and even arguably healthy (blech).

The fact that she had passed the placenta was good news, so I left her alone until she finished consuming it.

Once Don got up, it was a fairly straightforward matter to get Shadow in with the calf. Took a bit of work, but we did it.

By this point it was abundantly clear the baby was a boy.

We named him Primo -- not only because he's the first calf of the season, but because he'll be "primo" eating in two years.

Shadow is a good mama, attentive and protective.

Newborn calves are unspeakably darling.

As is typical for very newborn babies, everywhere Primo went, Shadow, well, shadowed him. Dogged his every step.

This got pretty funny when Primo tried out his newborn muscles and did the happy little skippy-hops and short-burst runs of a healthy baby. Shadow trotted after him, udder swaying, mewling in concern.

This intense attention will decrease over the next week or so as Shadow's hormones adjust.

This is the first of as many as eight -- eight! -- calves we're expecting this year. Yikes.