Mind the gap when working with cows
IHAVEN’T had a chance to assimilate Minister Eustice’s announcements this week. It may well be he’s heralding a new golden age in farming, where I’m no longer the villain of the piece, but rather a carbon-grabbing, biodiverse, food-mile cancelling superhero. I’m even prepared to try on some snazzy spandex outfit, emblazoned with a bolt of lightning across the chest, to go with the accolades he’s about to heap on me. Of course, it may be, were I to hold my breath while looking down the documents for the good news, I might have gone a bit Smurfy by the time I get to it. Certainly, while he was wallowing in the limelight after the speech, he was referring to the fantastic prices farmers are enjoying lately. And it’s true, corn, cattle and sheep are all a much-improved trade. Regrettably, the fabulous prices are considerably below the median cost of production – never mind that of a smallscale peasant operator on a rainy hillside. And they’re absolutely reliant on outside factors pushing trade around, largely beyond our control and certainly beyond poor Georgie Boy’s. And, despite what he’d dearly love you to believe, hardly an early benefit of leaving the EU. Most market factors have been despite Brexit, not because of it… but George really does have an issue with admitting he was wrong, but hey ho.
Still, at least he didn’t find himself shut in a room with one of the poor pig farmers, who are feeding tens of thousands of fattened pigs for which there’s currently no market... partially due to specific Brexit complications. Or worse, some of the unfortunate shellfish producers he’s evidently throwing under the bus, rather than having sorted out some technicality which has apparently been visible on the horizon for several months. Still, on the upside, it’s not as if pork and shellfish spoil quickly... Oh.
Meanwhile, I have cows to feed, and a flock or two of sheep steadily getting full in the belly. The ewes are mostly looking very well indeed, despite not having needed much supplementary feed yet. I throw a block or two at them as I pass, and one group have had a couple of round bales. By the end of the last lot of snow, I’d just started taking some hard feed to them, which they readily scoffed – bowling me over in the act. But I’m pretty sure they’d have been fine without.
The cows are getting bigger too, with the South Devons noticeably closer to popping. And going in amongst a mob of heavily pregnant south Devons to de-string the bales does take a certain amount of fortitude. They may well be the epitome of docility amongst my bovine chums, but there’s an unfortunate inevitable quirk of cow psychology. See, as you brush between a pair of huge orange bellies, extracting yourself from a ring of munching ladies with the string off the bale, squeezing through a gap just big enough to allow the passage of a waterproof clad bloke, they’ll each lean in, closing the gap. I’m sure they mean no ill of it… but you don’t want to have had a big bowl of soup before you try this slimming technique.
One group includes the first calving heifers and, using my skill and judgement, I noticed some were getting closer than others to popping. It’s OK, I told myself, heifers will go up and down for weeks… they’re not that close. The very next day, with a gale blowing, a very busy morning, and no help on hand, two had a soggy shivering little treasure to show me up at the feeder. Whether they’d calved at the feeder, or somehow got their babies through the porridge, I couldn’t say. But a bit of carrying, herding and sweating later, I had all four lives out the gate and headed for the yard. They’re now housed in a linhay, all up and dry and healthy. Admittedly the mums aren’t very clear whose calf is whose, and both babies feed from either cow... but better that way than the other.
I’m feeding the indoor beasts at barrier feeders, along raised feed passages, which is very civilised. However, at some point, you have to get in amongst them to bed them each day. Most get so quiet this end of the winter that they then won’t get out of the way.
I do find myself stopping to scratch favourites, and was enjoying a slobbery wet kiss from a very smart Riggit cow this morning. This was quite endearing, as she’s such a friendly soul and I couldn’t turn away her yeasty-breathed advances. It was only later I noticed that her very chunky calf has got some ringworm on his ear – think areas of an itchy athlete’s foot type fungal rash. And she assiduously licks his scabby ear whenever they’re standing together… then offers me slobbery kisses. Hmm.