New moo

Well, we are legit cattle farmers now. Over the weekend James and I headed out for a weekend at the farm. We spent the time working with our four little cows and prepping the stables for more. On Saturday morning we set off for Horse Cave, Kentucky to pick up the next load. We now have ten more baby calves. Four of them belong to James! We've been doing our research though. Like I said, James and I don't do much without reading a book about it first.

Cover to cover. Seriously.

Horse Cave is about two and a half hours from the farm, and we picked James' uncle up on the way, to help with the haul. We hauled around a long gooseneck trailer through the winding roads of the back country in search of the dairy farm.

We passed a group of amish boys walking down the road with a pitchfork and a shotgun and knew we were close. Sure enough, we turned into the farm shortly after. We met the farmer, clad in his uniform - overalls, wading boots, and trucker hat. He showed us into the barn.

It was wide open and full of calves. They looked us over and immediately one ran right up to me. The boys were talking prices and details while I walked through the swarm of cows. My new little friend, "number 39", grabbed a hold of the strap of my coverall ski pants and wouldn't let go. He followed me around and yanked and pulled on the strap. I walked up to James with the cow in tow. He laughed a little.. until Number 39 decided he wanted a taste of James, too. He poked around and chewed at his jeans and jacket. When James went to walk to the front of the barn, Number 39 followed, chewing and sucking on the edge of his jacket the whole time.

Rotten little sucker, literally.

One of our little ones, then, decided to make a break for it. A little one, Number 38, took off from the barn and sprinted into the neighboring field. He stopped once he reached the sunshine and immediately started grazing. He had no intentions of coming back inside. At 22 degrees, even a little sunshine made it feel like a beachy day.

Soaking up some sun on the trailer.

He frolicked around before we ushered him straight into the trailer, before trying to herd the others in. I stood by the gate to the barn, on the outside, all the while, Number 39, was reaching through the gate trying to grab hold of any of my clothing loose enough to fit in his mouth. The old farmer saw this and, with a laugh, headed back in to get him some food to keep him away from us for a second or two. When number 39 saw the old man head in the direction of food he skipped and jumped up in the air and bounced around behind him, only to be disappointed by the handful of feed he got in return.

We loaded up all of our new little babies, all ten of them, and headed back to the farm. They rode well, without complaint, and once there they unloaded just as easily. We shuffled them into the three cleaned stalls and immediately they started chewing up hay. Home, at last.

Chowin' down.

These are our little babies!

After they had settled we got to work. We cleaned out the big barn, full of farm equipment and odds and ends. We swept up the paths, cleaned out the cobwebs, organized the barrels and buckets and cans.   We were trying to make it as easy as possible to come in, feed, and check on them every morning and night. It was then that we heard the pathetic little cow coughs. "Moooo-egh!"

We had already picked up some medicine, an antibiotic, since young calves are known to pick up "shipping fever", especially when they are jostled around and moved on a very cold day. It was time for some shots. Since we had already given shots to the older four, now out in the pasture, eating all the hay they could fit in their bellies, we were old pros at this.

"Brownie", laying out in the pasture.

We wanted out baby cows to be as healthy as possible, especially during such an important, stressful time in their lives. They were in a new place, with new cows, and separated from each other for the first time. They had already been weened from their mama cow, but this hay and feed smelled different from the old stuff, and according to my book, that makes cows nervous.

Eating his own boogers. It didn't say anything about that in the book.

Baby cow bath time!

We loaded up the medical supplies and got to poking. Each calf took it relatively well. These cows were much gentler and used to people than the older four. But, there were ten of them, and that makes for a long time, filling the syringe, holding them in place, poking, and observing to make sure they get back to eating relatively quickly. James and his dad would hold the calf and I would hand over the needle. They would get their shots in the neck, subcutaneously. We knew all about how to do this from the book, and his dad's past experience with cows. When they were in "our stall" - where the James' four were - they got about to the routine, but this time, Number 39 wasn't letting them get anything done. James and his dad would be holding a calf, administering the shot, and the whole time 39 would be pulling at their jacket sleeves, nudging their legs, sucking on their jeans, chewing on their elbows, you name it. He was last to get his shot.

The rotten one, again. Oh come on, you can't deny those big eyes.

After all of the shots we fed them all their dinner and left them alone for the night. It had been a long day for them, and for us, with all kinds of new sights, sounds and smells. We wanted them to get plenty of rest before we checked on them the next morning. We had a lot more to do.

Snuggin' up.

Sunset on the farm.

Moonrise.