Chapter Six --- "How to Swing a Calf"

There’s more to milking cows than meets the eye.

Picture with me a farmer sitting on a three-legged stool, leaning his head and shoulder into a cow’s flank, patiently, steadily, his strong hands and forearms flexing with each squeeze.  He does this twice a day, providing milk for his family.   Maybe you can even hear the milk hitting the stainless pail, and see the white jet streams of milk building upwards into a warm foamy pail full of delicious creamy beverage.  Then you see the farmer gently untying the cow, and hear him speak her name, “There ya go Sally.  Thanks, ol’ girl.  See ya this evening,” as he sends her back out to the pasture.  It’s an idyllic scene, and one that was true for many families in days gone by.   Those were my memories from early childhood.  Mom made butter from cream, and cottage cheese with the extra milk.  And of course, we drank all the milk we wanted, and made a lot of homemade ice cream too.

However.  (There’s always the however.) The modern dairy is a highly managed business, requiring a keen eye, and strict attention to many details.  The profit margin is slim, and the dairyman must make decisions based on milk production and the bottom line -- not sentiment.  It’s tough to send the old favorite cows to the auction -- bringing a tear to the eyes at times.  On the other hand, there are cows that produced well in their lifetime, but because of personality difficulties, or bad habits, it feels okay to see them go.

I guess we all know that cows do not produce milk so that we can enjoy it in our cereal or eat it in the forms of yogurt, ice cream, and cheese.  Rather, they produce it to feed their calves.  Just like all warm-blooded mammals, when a baby is born, the mother’s body produces milk to nourish it.  Cows (and a few other animals, including camels, sheep, and goats) happen to be well suited to produce more than needed for the young.  Years of selective breeding for production have turned modern-day dairy cows into milk machines far exceeding the normal requirements. Today, a good dairy cow produces enough milk to feed ten calves.

On the average, a cow should give birth once each year.  So if you have a herd of one hundred milking cows, that means there will be a couple calves born nearly every week.  Cows do not have a particular breeding season like a lot of animals, so it works out nicely to have a herd in all stages of pregnancy and lactation.  Some will be producing heavily while others are slowing down in production.   Still others are in the later stages of pregnancy, and taking a break.  They should have about two to three months rest from producing milk while the calf develops.  At this stage we call them “dry” cows.

At Clearview Farms the pasture for dry cows was located across the driveway from the barn.  It was easy to view, and convenient to watch for new births.  We knew about when to expect the new calves, because breeding records were kept on each cow.  It was also pretty evident the last couple days because their udders would swell up tremendously.

New births were exciting.  It was like a miracle every time to see a little bright-eyed calf stumbling clumsily along beside its mom, or lying calmly in the bright green grass.  Sometimes though, the cows needed help.  There are a variety of problems during birthing, but the most common one was when a cow simply could not push hard enough to give birth to a large calf.  Then it was time grab the calves legs and pull.

My first experience with this happened to be when Jim-the-owner stopped by to discuss the plans for the day.  We noticed a cow with a small pair of feet sticking out her backside, and thought we’d give her a little time.  After waiting, it became apparent that, even though she strained mightily, the birthing wasn’t progressing as it should.  So Jim said we would wait until she lies down, then we’ll help her.  It wasn’t long until the cow laid down and bellowed with each strain, and we walked up behind her and attached a piece of twine to the calf’s feet.

“Now,” Jim explained, “we’ll work with her and pull when she pushes.”

Soon the cow gave a pained groan, and pushed with all her might, and we pulled.  The calf’s head and front feet slid out.  Another good push while we pulled, and the calf’s chest squeezed through.  Once the head and chest were out, the rest of the body was smaller, and followed relatively easily.  The calf lay for a few seconds not moving, so Jim slapped its sides.

“Come on,” he said, “take a breath,” and slapped it some more.  I watched, and caught myself taking deep breaths for it. Then it gasped and shook its head a little.  Then another gasp, followed by a round of raspy breaths and a couple coughs.  I thought something must be wrong, but Jim just smiled and pulled up one of the calf’s hind legs for a peek.

“A nice heifer calf,” he said, “She’ll be fine.”

Jim thought this was a good time to explain a few more fundamentals about calving, and I was more than happy to learn as much as possible.  This was all new, and as we wiped our slimy hands on the grass, he explained.

“Sometimes the calves come out backwards – hind feet first.  When that happens you need to pull them fast.  The umbilical cord will tear before the head is out, and they can die for lack of oxygen if the birth takes too long.”

He went on, “Sometimes it helps them drain the fluid in their throat if you hold them up by their hind legs.  If it seems like they’re having trouble getting that first breath, slap them hard, and if that doesn’t do it, pick them up.  It’s hard to hold them up by the slippery legs, so if there is a fence nearby, just hang the hind legs over the fence, and hold them there.  There are times where even that doesn’t work.  Sometimes the best thing you can do is swing them.”

I knew exactly what he meant.  I could picture it all in my head. Just like I sometimes held my children by the arms and swung them round and round.  The centrifugal force would expel the fluid from the calf’s throat.  I still felt unsure about my ability to handle the calving process by myself, but Jim as always, was very reassuring.

“You’ll do fine Dave.  Most times the cows and calves don’t need any help at all.  Other times, the calf will die no matter what you do.  If that happens, don’t worry about it.”

It was only about a week later when I had my first solo calving.  Lisa had gone home for breakfast and her mid-day break, and I had just returned to the barn following my breakfast.  A glance towards the dry cow pasture indicated a birthing was in process.

I kept an eye out towards the pasture as I worked around the barn, until it seemed that I might have to assist.  I waited until the cow was down and straining hard, and hustled out to her.  That’s when I realized I had forgotten the twine, but figured I could grip the legs and help her out.  Just as the day when Jim was here with me, I pulled when she pushed, and with a lot of straining and grunting on my part, and a lot of groaning and pushing on the cow’s part, the calf was born.  It lay there behind the cow, not moving.

“Come on calf, breathe!” I implored, and began slapping its side.

The calf’s eyes blinked, and it moved a little.  It seemed that it was trying to draw a breath, but nothing was happening.  I slapped harder, and tried to remove fluid from its mouth.  Still, it wasn’t breathing.

“Come on! Don’t die!” I shouted desperately.  This was my first one, and just couldn’t lose it.  The cow, by now had gotten to its feet and turned around to face this little drama.  I kept one eye on her, not knowing for sure yet if any of these huge bovine creatures had the capacity for aggressively protecting their young.  To me, it seemed likely that the mother would want me away from her little bundle of black and white.  As she loomed nearby, I picked it up by the hind legs.  It was a heavy little critter, and difficult to hold.  It seemed that too much time had passed, and I was going to lose this one, when I finally remembered what Jim had said. ‘Sometimes ya gotta swing them.’

So I gripped the hind legs harder and began spinning around.  The first thing I noticed was how terribly difficult it was to hang on!  The slippery birth fluid was lubricating the calf’s legs to a point that only a superhuman grip could hang on for this procedure.  I felt a new appreciation for the strength of a farmer's hands when it came to times like this.

I continued to swing the calf around until I heard a bellow from the mama.  As I came around facing her direction, I noticed her watching the procedure with complete disapproval – shock and anger in her eyes.  What in the world is this stupid human doing to her calf?  About the same time I completely lost my grip and the calf flew from my hands, landing with a slippery thud on the grass.

The cow and I both stepped forward at the same time, and it was immensely gratifying to watch the calf take its first long gasping breath.  I backed away as the cow began a thorough cleaning of her newborn.  I watched the miracle with great satisfaction, as momma mooed gently and ran her rough tongue over every inch of the calf’s body.  It had been a close call, but thank goodness the swinging had done the job!  I was so glad Jim had taken the time to tell me what to do.

So hard to hang on to the slippery legs!  Then I lost my grip, and the calf went flying!

Later that day Matt came around to the barn to check in, and I showed him the newborn.

“I thought I was gonna lose him, Matt.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he couldn’t breath no matter what did, until I swung him.”

Matt nodded his head understandingly, “Good job, Dave, sometimes ya gotta do that.”

“How do you hang onto their legs when you swing them?”  I was a little embarrassed to ask.

“Whadaya mean?”

“Well I was swinging the calf and couldn’t hang on to it.”

“I don’t know, it’s not that hard.”  Matt stuffed a chaw of tobacco in his cheek and stared at me with a puzzled expression.  It felt like his eyes were studying my arms.

“Momma cow didn’t like it either.  She stood there bawling at me, and I thought she was going to charge.”

Matt’s brow furrowed even deeper, and his eyes squinted narrowly as he tried to picture what I was saying.  His mouth stopped chewing and hung open as he continued staring, so I explained further.

“I grabbed the calf’s hind legs and swung him around as hard as I could, but after about the fourth circle, I couldn’t hang on any longer, and he flew out of my hands.  The legs are so slippery!  I don’t know if it was the centrifugal force, or the thump on the ground, but it worked - he started breathing.”

There!  Matt had the whole story.  Now he knew what a weakling I was!  I’d never be a real farmer.  I was an imposter -- living off the generosity of these good people.

I watched as Matt’s facial expression moved from intense bewilderment to a picture of surprise and pity as he doubled over, slapped his thighs, and nearly collapsed.  Great guffaws burst from his mouth and he nearly choked on his ‘baccer.  He caught his breath just in time to spit out the whole wad, and gave way to another outburst.

“Dave,” he tried to talk, but couldn’t.  Now it was my turn to stare at this crazy figure doubling over with hysterics.  No doubt my own face was twisted into a mixture of embarrassed grin and absolute confusion.  I waited for him to settle down a little, before shouting.

“What is so stinking funny!?”

“Dave!” He croaked, “I couldn’t have held on either! You’re just supposed to hold them up by their hind legs and swing ‘em from side to side.  You don’t go round in circles!”

Next week, "Farm Wife." (I know, it was supposed to be this week, but I pushed the calf story ahead of it.) :)