Calf on the rocks
We’ve had several calves born on the ranch in the past couple of months. Our new herd sire, Mr. Boo, has put his undeniable genetic mark on each one.
A large red-and-white cow gave birth to an allblack baby with a brilliant white face. In fact, he looked so much like Mr. Boo, our ranch hand Bob called him Baby Boo.
A few days ago one of our Hereford cows gave birth to another Mr. Boo look-alike. But this little one has four white feet and lower legs, with the bottom half of the tail being white. Bob wants to call this one either Baby Boo Two, or maybe Sox.
The evening after Bob reported this Hereford gave birth, the little cow took her calf into a draw away from the other cattle. Delightfully, that was in view of the house, directly across from the kitchen. We enjoyed watching the brand-new baby with the beautiful markings explor- ing among the rocks and along the fence.
The next morning Sharon returned to the house after feeding the horses. “I can see the little Momma, but I can’t see her calf.” That wasn’t really a worry to me. I’d looked at the cow grazing, not looking around or apparently distraught. It didn’t appear she was one bit worried about her calf’s location.
Bob assured Sharon he’d feed hay then ride the quad over there and look around.
I carefully looked the area over with the binoculars. The cow was nipping grass peacefully, not bawling or acting concerned. That indicated she’d tucked the calf in a safe spot and knew right where he was. She was busily eating so she could produce milk.
After hay was fed, Bob rode over to the ridge where the cow was last seen. She wasn’t there now. She’d gone to hay, obviously without her new baby by her side. That also indicated to me she wasn’t worried.
I watched his efforts through the binoculars. I was certain he’d find the baby securely tucked away in the rocks napping peacefully waiting for his mother. Bob searched up and down the draw, and around the trees and rocks. It’s a small area. He rode all over it looking. He even dismounted the quad and walked among the trees and rocks.
But he was unsuccessful. He couldn’t find hide nor hair of the missing calf.
He returned, telling how the cow’s udder was quite full as if the calf hadn’t nursed since the evening before. Now I began to get worried. Bob was very thorough. He did everything I’d have done if I’d been out there looking.
If that baby was gone, it was the result of a predator, most probably a cougar. Our neighbor on the hill to the south saw one near his house, but that was several months ago. The possibility a cougar returned to our area, however small, still concerned me. A big cat will readily kill a calf if it’s hungry enough.
Sharon was still worried, and now, so was I. I pulled on my boots, put on a raincoat, fired up the quad, and rode over there in a steady rain. Momma cow was back from the hay, grazing where she’d been before going to the barn. I started down the steep bank behind her, looking up and down the bottom of the draw for hair, blood, bone, anything that might give us a clue.
Not a blade of grass was disturbed. There were no drag marks, and no tracks of any predators. Sadly, there was also no beautiful black calf with a white face and white stockings.
Then I moved ahead a few feet and stopped so I could get a better look at the cow’s udder. It was still strutted out. I did notice each teat looked very clean and pink as they would appear after a calf nursed. That was a good sign.
Suddenly the ranch radio squawked. Sharon asked if I’d found the baby. “No, I haven’t seen a thing.”
As I spoke I turned to the right. There, barely visible behind a granite rock, was a very black and fuzzy backside of a calf. And most encouragingly, the spine was up, not lying on the side like a dead animal.
“I found him. He’s still alive.”
Off the quad, I patted the baby on the back. There was very little motion. I did it again, this time two or three times, and a bit harder.
The baby was obviously sound asleep. He exploded up out of his secure bed, leaping and stumbling over the surrounding rocks, eyes wide, ears straight out, head held high. My patting him on the back had not only awakened him, but thoroughly spooked him.
I think Bob simply didn’t get in the right position to see behind the rocks and spot the little one snuggled down napping. Apparently the little cow’s udder was simply the result of producing an abundance of milk because she had ample green grass. This made it appear her calf hadn’t nursed. Seeing her recently, her udder was full, but not strutted-out as before.
With that amount of mother’s nourishment, this little bull calf, we’ve decided Sox fits best, is going to grow quickly.
Brent Gill lives in Springville. His “Daunt to Dillonwood” column appears regularly in The Porterville Recorder. If you enjoyed this column, follow his blog at http:// brentgill.blogspot.com.