Clueless Cowboy
Page 12
“Let me pull the lever. I’m stronger.”
Emily hesitated. “Your strength will help, but you’ve got to keep going even if it seems to be hurting Cowlick. I’ve heard cows make very distressed sounds. I’ve even seen a few fall down. When the going gets hardest, that’s the exact moment you can’t quit.”
Jake met her eyes. “I won’t quit.”
She held his gaze, judging him. “Let’s say a prayer before we start.”
Jake nodded. “I’ll say it.”
Emily felt better after Jake’s sincere request for help from God. “Okay, let’s go.”
Jake started hiking the lever. His muscles bulged under his T-shirt.
Emily knew a prayerful moment of gratitude. She would have been in trouble doing this alone. She watched the calf’s hind legs emerge fully.
“Now’s when it gets hard. Once its little rump is delivered it should be easy.”
Jake worked the lever steadily, winding up one chain link at a time with the click of metal on metal.
Emily saw his lips moving and knew he’d kept up his prayers. She added her own. “Just a few more inches.”
The lever stalled.
“It’s not moving.” Jake spoke through gritted teeth, leaning on the lever with all of his strength. His feet slipped a bit on the crackling straw.
Emily grabbed the calf’s legs above the chain and pulled.
For a second, then two, nothing happened. Cowlick mooed in distress and twisted her head around, fighting the stanchion, to look over her shoulder.
Emily glanced up at Jake and saw regret over the pain he was causing. Then, with a sudden burst, the calf’s little tail emerged and its hips, then it slid and landed on Emily like a wet sack of cement.
Rolling the soggy calf aside, Emily pulled the baby away from Cowlick’s heels and knelt beside it. The calf wheezed. Emily grabbed a handful of clean straw and tickled its broad pink nose. “It’s a little bull.” Emily automatically checked. She glanced at Jake. “Grab his front leg. Like this.” Emily bent one front leg double, pressing it against the calf’s chest.
Jake was beside her instantly.
“Work his front leg up and down this way. It works like CPR. Maybe we can get the water out of him. Stephie, can you get the chains off his legs?”
They all three worked in silence. Emily got a few satisfactory sneezes out of the little bull, then he started fighting Jake.
Emily sat back on her heels. “Hold up.”
Jake eased the leg out straight and sat back on his heels. “He doesn’t seem too good.”
“I think he’s going to be okay.” A soft crooning hum drew Emily’s attention to Cowlick. Those gentle lowing noises were as natural to the little cow as giving milk. “Steph, let Cowlick out to meet her son.” She pulled Jake away as the stanchion clicked open.
“You’re a mommy now,” Stephie sang.
Cowlick went immediately to her baby’s side and started licking the white stripe down the center of its black face. The calf lifted its nose until he touched his mother’s rough tongue with his own. Then, with a burst of energy, the baby shook his head vigorously and flailed his legs. Cowlick knocked him flat on his side with her tongue.
“She’s hurting him.” Jake rose from where he knelt on the barn floor.
Emily put a staying hand on his forearm. “Watch him liven up when she pushes him around. He pushes back. See.” Emily pointed to the little one’s uncoordinated efforts. “He’s starting to use his muscles.”
The baby sat up and resisted the seemingly careless ministrations of his mama. He leaned in to her licking, supporting himself against it.
Jake sank back on the floor, and Stephie’s arms came around Emily’s neck. The messy part of her work was done, so Emily stripped the plastic sleeve off her arm and tossed it into the iodine bucket. In silence, they watched the mother and calf.
Cowlick kept up a steady vibration from deep in her throat. The calf returned a juvenile imitation of the soothing song. The crooning settled into something spiritual.
Emily would have been content to sit there all night. She glanced at Jake to see if he was enjoying this as much as she was. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
Jake Hanson had learned to cry.
She smiled, then hoisted herself to her feet. “We need to get him up. He should have colostrum.”
With a quick dash of his wrist across his eyes, Jake stood beside her ready to help. “What’s colostrum?”
Emily’s heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster. He’d made all the difference tonight. “Colostrum is the first milk the mother gives. It has a high concentration of protein and contains a natural antibiotic. The quicker we get some inside him the better. Especially since the fluid in his lungs can cause pneumonia.”
“What do we do?”
“First let me get him on his feet.” She could see that Jake thought it was too soon, but he nodded.
Emily pressed on the calf’s hind quarters. The baby reacted by pulling its front legs more fully underneath it. Next it leaned forward on its knees, lurched on its back legs, and raised its hindquarters into the air. Emily waited for the little bull to get his balance, then, when she thought it was time, she wrapped her arms around his slimy belly and hoisted him onto all fours. He wavered on those long stilts for a precarious count of three before he dropped back to the floor.
Emily laughed. “Not bad for the first time, little guy. Let’s go again.”
The second time he didn’t try at all. He just looked over his shoulder at Emily’s prodding.
The third time, Jake helped lift and they had him on his feet for a split second before Cowlick knocked him over with her curious nose.
The fourth time he got up and stayed. He was so wobbly, standing upright looked like nothing short of a miracle. When he took his first staggered steps they all cheered, and the noise almost sent him back to the floor. Jake caught him. Emily then pushed him toward Cowlick’s udder. Cowlick turned to follow the calf, which had the effect of moving her udder away from her hungry baby.
Emily shook her head in disgust. “Beef cattle are better at this. A lot of natural instincts have been bred out of Holsteins in an effort to get more milk.”
“Why would getting more milk ruin a cow’s instincts?”
Emily kept urging the calf toward the circling cow. “It’s not that they tried to wreck the instincts, it’s just that a dairy cow can live without them. A beef cow has her calf outside, with no people to help. The cow gives birth without trouble or she dies. The calf gets up without help and starts in eating or it dies. Survival of the fittest.” Emily started urging the calf and Cowlick into a corner. “Although, I do check my cattle and I end up helping a few babies into the world every year. That’s why I’ve got all this equipment. You know that buffalo herd near here?”
Jake looked away from Cowlick’s baby. “You’ve mentioned it before.”
“I was over there once when a buffalo cow gave birth. Compared to them even beef cattle are wimpy.”
“How’s that?”
“When I was there the herd was walking along, grazing, and Buffy pointed to one of them and said, ‘Look, she’s going to have a baby right now.’ ”
“The buffalo didn’t head for some lonely spot?”
“Nope, they stay together. They know the herd is protection for them. The buffalo cow never stopped moving. The calf was born while she was walking and fell to the ground.”
“Was it hurt?” Jake looked like he was ready to go have a stern talk with Buffy about protecting her herd better.
Emily smiled. “Not only was it not hurt, it bounced right onto its feet and chased after the mother.”
Jake looked doubtful as he glanced at the wobbly Holstein calf.
“Buffy told me the mothers never look back. The calf catches up and eats on its own or it dies. She said with almost every birth she’d ever seen, the calf was on its feet and walking after its mother within sixty seconds.”
It gave Emily hope. “Compare that to dairy farmers. They keep constant watch, especially on high-producing cows because the calves are worth sometimes thousands of dollars. Dairy farmers intervene in troubled births, like we just did. Cows that don’t calf easily and don’t have natural maternal instinct, like standing still to let her calf eat ”—Emily aimed the last words at Cowlick and jammed her fists onto her hips as Cowlick nuzzled her baby, keeping her milk end far from her baby’s mouth, and the calf standing there wobbling without a thought of eating—“still have babies that survive and grow up to reproduce, no matter how dumb they are.”
Emily pushed the baby again and Cowlick moved in the wrong direction. “Jake, stand on that side of her and keep her back end from moving away from me. Stephie, stay by her head and talk to her, distract her from licking the calf. If we can get the calf to eat once, they ought to get the idea.”
Jake almost got shoved over for his trouble and Stephie wasn’t as interesting to Cowlick as the calf, but finally the little bull latched on to supper.
His mama turned her head to watch him eat, now careful not to move her udder. Cowlick resumed her gentle lowing and licked along the baby’s spine. With every drink, the calf gained strength and muscle control. His tiny tail began to twitch in time to his nursing.
Emily silently offered a prayer of thanks. She hadn’t wanted Jake’s first brush with the death of an animal to come so soon. It was a fact of life on the ranch, but he didn’t have to learn that yet. With a satisfied sigh, she began picking up her equipment.
Jake took the heavy brace for her. “Let me carry it home for you.”
“Leave it over by that wall for tonight. I don’t have the energy to pack everything back home.”
“Fine.” Jake put the brace away. “What else do you need done?”
“Well, we need to treat his navel.” Emily stooped and got her aerosol can of iodine out of the toolbox. She crouched beside the calf and sprayed under his stomach, careful to reach both sides. The sharp smell of iodine filled the barn as the bull’s raw umbilical cord, hanging down under his belly, got painted bright purple from the spray.
“Then he needs a shot.” She replaced the iodine can and extracted her hypodermic needle and the bottle of broad spectrum antibiotic. She poked the needle into the rubber cover on the bottle, pulled back the plunger on the syringe, and, giving Jake an apologetic grin, stabbed the poor little bull right in front of his tail, a few inches off to the side of his backbone.
“I know that must be necessary,” Jake said through clenched teeth.
Emily patted him on the arm. “It is. New calves are so prone to infection, especially with such a difficult birth. I don’t do it for my calves, but between the complicated birth and being a wimpy Holstein, I’m doing it as a precaution. I have to give him this one and a vitamin shot.” She concentrated on the calf, not wanting to see Jake flinch when the needle stabbed in.
“If this was one of my calves, I’d tag his ear to identify him. Yours is going to be spared the piercing. Since you only have one calf, I think we’ll be able to keep track of him.” She grinned at Jake. “Let’s move the two of them into the bigger stall at that end of the barn. Then we can go. I’d like to check him once more before bedtime, to make sure his lungs are clear, and maybe once around two.”
In deference to Jake, Emily lured Cowlick into the stall with a bucket of grain without a single slap on her broad back. The calf trailed along unsteadily, chasing his escaping supper.
Emily and Stephie walked Jake back to his house, enjoying the pleasant evening and the chirping of grasshoppers. An owl hooted in the trees, and a warm breeze rustled the leaves and grass.
“Right now I’m really glad I didn’t come out and stop you when you brought that tank of propane to the house.” Jake looked down at his grubby clothes, then looked sideways at her with a naughty glint in his eye.
It took Emily a second to get it. “You saw me? You knew I was working on your water heater?”
He grinned. “Why should you be mad?”
“That bottle of gas was heavy. If you knew I was doing it you could have helped.” She gave his filthy shoulder just the littlest shove with her equally filthy hand.
Jake laughed. “I’m the one who was getting modernized against my will.” He bent and gave her the briefest possible kiss on the cheek. “See you later, in the maternity ward.”
He went into the house, and she turned to her own home, still tingling from the drama and joy of the night and Jake’s teasing, and maybe, just slightly, from that purely platonic kiss.
Nineteen
If the calf had gotten sick, Jake knew he’d come out of hiding to find a cow emergency ward—if there was such a thing.
And Emily wouldn’t respect spending thousands of dollars to save a calf worth a couple of hundred. It wasn’t good business. To Jake’s relief the calf was fine.
It was a good thing he was rich to begin with, because he couldn’t make tough business choices about his animals’ lives. He didn’t mind. He could ranch for a long time before he used up all his money. Still, he was glad Emily didn’t have to know.
He let the calf have all the milk it wanted and still got a gallon from Cowlick every morning and night. It was more than Jake, the Johannsons, and the kittens could drink, so they were throwing the extra away.
Stephie surprised him by loving to milk. As soon as Emily was satisfied that Cowlick wouldn’t kick, she agreed to turn the chore over to her little sister.
Jake helped with the haying and couldn’t believe the hard work involved. “You throw bales by yourself?”
Emily shrugged and gave him an evil grin. “Normally I’d hire a couple of high school boys to help. But I can’t because they’d find out about you. So you get to take up the slack.”
Jake looked at her as she climbed down from the hayrack. She stopped the tractor every dozen or so bales and pretended to help him straighten the load, but the load was perfectly straight. She was just giving him a break. Good thing, hoisting seventy-five-pound bales continuously for four hours almost killed him.
He ached for a week. The heavy lifting wakened a white-knight reflex and made him fiercely glad he could help. Her gratitude rang in his ears until he cherished every one of his stiff muscles.
Around the end of July, Emily announced the chickens were old enough to eat. It sent Jake into a tailspin. He endured several days of Emily’s abuse before he noticed she wasn’t chasing any of them down either.
At lunch one day—fried chicken from the grocery store—Jake braced her about it. “You don’t want to eat those chickens any more than I do.”
Emily got really busy dishing up slices of the first tomatoes of the summer and didn’t look him in the eye. “It’s not that I mind eating them. . .much.” She looked up, her eyes wide. “I just don’t want to get them ready to eat.”
Stephie made a gagging noise, then went back to gobbling down the coleslaw they’d made from the cabbage in the garden.
Jake scowled at Emily. “You mean you can’t look into their trusting little eyes and chop their heads off?” Jake would never go after one of his very own chickens with an ax.
Near as he could tell, Emily was suddenly fascinated by the task of buttering her corn on the cob. “It’s not like I couldn’t do it. I could. If I had to.”
“You’ve been torturing me for days.”
She flung her arms wide. “It’s not like we’re starving.”
So the chickens were spared.
About that time, Jake discovered chickens were stupid. They would not stay in their pen. Despite constant patching, they always found a way out. He found droppings all over, in ex-tremely unpleasant ways.
Then they began to vanish. Jake knew because Emily had ordered him to count his chickens every morning.
He had about forty left. “What is going on? There were fifty chickens when yo
u brought them home.”
“Hawks or owls probably. It’s just a hazard that goes along with raising chickens.”
Jake planted his fists on his hips. “Well if they’re going to be eaten anyway, it seems like we ought to get to eat them.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Emily didn’t go for the ax, and Jake couldn’t, so the hawks were living large.
Next the dumb clucks all started picking on one chicken. To save it, Jake built it a separate yard. Then the birds simply chose another of their kind to harass.
When he had seven separate pens scattered around his yard, he could have killed a few leghorns, fried them up, and savored every bite. When the blasted birds discovered his fledgling garden and cleared out every speck of green, he entered a martyr zone.
The end came when they started on Emily’s garden. The rancher in her rediscovered itself and Jake didn’t even bat an eye when she announced the high-tech compromise of taking the roosters, about half the dwindling flock, to the local meat locker to be butchered. It wasn’t what a pioneer would have done, but having Emily’s freezer stuffed with chicken was one modern compromise Jake decided he liked.
Emily had to drive miles out of her way to get to his place, but she showed up with a stack of wooden crates in her truck late one night while the chickens were roosting for the night in the chicken house. She quietly entered the small building, then caught the unsuspecting roosters by the legs. They squawked and flapped, but the other chickens stayed put as their brethren got hauled away. Emily tucked them in the crates and it took a few trips before Jake waded in and started helping.
As they took away the last of the roosters, Jake remembered his poor pumpkins plants. “The hens are eating the garden, too. Let’s throw them in.” Jake felt like he’d just imposed the death penalty on his friends. Of course he was royally sick of his friends, so he found he could live with it.