I should be finished with spring calving, but I have one farm where there are still about a half-dozen cows that didn’t get the memo. Because there are still expectant mothers at that place, I try to make a quick drive-through each morning before I start with the regular farm work that has to be done this time of year.
Last Sunday, as I drove through the herd and counted cows, I came up one cow short. Assuming one had calved and was off by herself, I crossed the creek and drove along the edge of the first wooded area. Hearing a cow bawling behind me, I turned the truck to see a black cow coming back to the main herd, allowing my total cow count to be accurate. Checking my records, I ascertained that the cow in question had already calved on March 4th and since she was heading toward the group of calves gathered along the creek, I quickly surmised that she was rejoining the group and would find her calf. Considering the size of her udder, I knew she needed some relief as much as her calf needed the nourishment. All seemed well, so I left.
On Monday, I loaded up the spray rig and headed to that farm first to begin my annual assault on musk thistles. As I drove through the herd on my way to the back side of the place, I counted cows and the number was correct. I had hardly started my spraying job when I noticed the same black cow that had caused me concern the day before. She had followed me the half-mile to the back side of the farm and was once again bawling. I drove down to where she stood and observed her looking towards the creek and mooing as if she were a missing her calf. If her udder had been large on Sunday, it could now be classified as huge. Now, my rather slow-processing brain realized there was a problem.
Driving my ATV through the woods that border the creek, I finally found #48, a red bull calf that weighed around 250 pounds with its head stuck in a knothole near the base of a hollow tree. As I approached the calf, I could tell he was terribly weakened from the ordeal and was desperate to be free. The mother had followed me and was trying to decide whether I was hurting or helping her youngster, so I had to keep an eye on her as well.
The poor little guy’s head was swollen and he had rubbed all the hair off the backside of his ears in his day-long attempt to get loose. Having no axe, saw or even rope on my ATV, I was befuddled on exactly what to do, but I began working on getting one ear outside the calf’s wooden prison. After about five minutes of twisting, turning and prying, I was able to get the first ear free and another five minutes enabled me to work the second ear loose, but his head was still too tight to release. Finally, I got behind the calf and pushed him forward just enough to allow his head to drop into that magical portion of the knothole that may have been a fourth of an inch wider and his head popped out like a cork from a bottle of aged champagne.
Scared, weak and confused, the red calf staggered off as fast as his feeble little legs could carry him, with his mother dutifully chasing after him. Once they were about 50 yards away, the calf began suckling his mother as if he hadn’t eaten in two days. It’s now Wednesday and the calf is back to normal health, with only a couple of ear scars to show for his time in prison.
Even though the calf is identified with ear tag #48, he will always be known to me as ‘Winnie the Pooh.’ Oh yeah, I have also taken a chainsaw to the ‘honey tree.’
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
