Goodbye, 209.

David got home from work last night at 4:30, and he, LD, HD, and I set out to wrangle the two orphan calves.

I fear I shall fail to convey to you just how challenging this ordeal was.

First, it is dark.  Like way bad dark.  And the cow pen covers about 15 acres.

Second, we have one stellar flashlight and one mediocore flashlight and that is all.  And isn’t it weird that our flashlight supply is so poor, given our lifestyle?  I shall try and remedy that for the future.

Third, the cows do not like us and wish us to not be near them.

Fourth, David is the only one who can manage roping a calf, and he has definitely not won any contests.  But please be aware that I could absolutely do no better and without him, these calves would not ever be caught.

We head out there.  First we must find the orphan calves.  I announce that the orphans are numbers 209 and 210 and every five minutes, one of the males I am related to would shout:

“I see calf 203!  Is that one we need?”

And I would, once again, shout:

“209! 210!”

209 was the calf I was most concerned about.  She was younger and smaller and didn’t look as hearty as her other orphan friend.

About a half hour into our adventure, David announced, and I quote:

“Yeah.  I don’t think this is going to work.”

And I counter-announced, and I quote:

“Well, we are just going to have to make it work.”

Look at me with my old-woman-sassy-pants on!

So, we try and fail and try and fail and try and fail, until finally, David ropes the back legs of precious little 209.

And I did the only thing I could think of:  I plopped right on top of her.  Because there was no way I was letting her escape.

We drag her a great distance to the pig pen where we try and offer a bottle.  She will have none of it and we all agree to let her calm down and go back and try and find 210.

You may ask, “Taylor!  Where are your girls?”

Well, Reader.  They are never here.  They have what one might call “lives” and we are lucky to be graced with their presence.

So, David and the boys and I go back out. for calf 210  And my patience with HD is running thin, Reader.

Running THIN.

Because he will not shut up.  And our plan is to be calm and quiet and he likes to shout pointless statements like:

“MOM.  This is dumb.  If the calf needed milk it would be dead already.”

“Mom.  We don’t need to do this.”

“Mom.  This is dumb.”

“Mom.  I am leaving.”

And I was like:

“For the love of everything-STOP TALKING.”

HD and I were paired up and LD and David were paired up.  At one time I could see David’s flashlight go all wack-a-doodle and knew that he had fallen.  While I was struggling and trying to see if he was ok, HD casually mentioned:

“Mom.  Dead cow.”

And I did not pay attention to him, because I was worried about David.  Because if David goes down, what hope have we?  I ask?

And then I feel myself stumble and start to go down.  I shine my flashlight and am face to face with-

The cow who died on Wednesday.

Not to be confused with-

The cow who died on Tuesday.

Because who has time to bury their dead these days?  Not us.

So, I scream and everyone is concerned and then we go back to finding 2-1-0.

David finally ropes him and 210 throws a gigantor fit and I just want him to know that we are simply trying to keep him alive.  And we drag him to the pig pen with his new pal, 209, and we try to bottle feed him.

And no one wants anything to do with any bottle.

So around 7:30 we came in for dinner, happy we had corraled the two calves, but worried that they had not yet eaten.

Earlier, I had listed the orphans for sale and David’s phone was blowing off the hook with people who want bottle calves.

Bottle calves.  Who knew?!

Saturday Morning.

Saturday Morning was steer butchering day.

Yuck.

David told me he would help me try and feed the orphans before we took the butchered steer to town.  So, I made a bottle and we went out there.

These calves act like we are serial killers.  I kid you not.

Poor David.  He has been up since the crack of dawn, butchering a steer all on his own, and now he has to try and wrangle a calf.  And they are not tiny babies.  They are big and fierce and I would like the records to show that calf 2-1-0 kicked me in the ankle and I not have a bruise.

We got 209 wrangled. And after about 10 minutes, something magical happened:

Is that not the most precious thing?

Only too bad for me, because David had about seven people in line to buy our orphans.

Me:  David!  Can I keep the heifer?!?!

David:  Maybe if no one wants her.

Me:  But, David!  I would feed her and love her and we could keep her forever!

David:  She would die and you would be upset.

Me:  I know.  BUT maybe not for a long time!  Please?  Please?  Please?

The first person to come bought her.  I shall now pick up the shattered pieces of my heart.

This life is hard.  But here is what I know:

David is teaching us about perserverance and hard work.  I feel thankful for what my kids are learning.  Even though I wanted to raise that precious bottle calf for my very own.

***

We got an Abbie update from New Family.

They still love her and all is well.  Here is a pictue of her resting after a walk with her new Dad.  Not surprsingly, she has become smitten with the Dad of the family, just lilke she became smitten with David in our family.

When we got home today, we were greeted with a surprise from a long time reader of this blog.  Pati had this lovely canvas of Abbie made for us:

HD got really sad about her last night.  We talked about how new family loves her and she is doing well.

We will hang it in the house and it will remind us of how much we loved her.

What a hard year it has been.

Happy Saturday.