Jersey and Stewpid

Posted on Friday 18 May 2007 at 10:18

I got to drive the cow home yesterday afternoon. Dave sat in the truck box with the four-day-old calf, making sure it didn't fall over and choke itself on its lead rope. The kids quickly named it Stupid, after the manner of all calves. Then I mentioned that we could call it "Stew" for short. They liked this idea, and the calf then became Stewpid (pronounced "Styewww-pid.")

When we got home, the girls started saying, "Aww, he's so cute!" I asked if they were going to have trouble shooting him. They said, "No," and meant it. They've done butchering with chickens, and their father and their grandmother have conditioned them to the fact that food comes from dead animals. I said to them, "He's cute now and tasty later." They laughed and figured that was a good deal, all round. We'll see if they change their minds when the time comes.

They call the cow Patty, as in Cow Patty. I just call her Jersey. She's very quiet and tame, leads well, and doesn't fuss about being milked. However, where her calf is concerned, she can turn into a Killer Attack Jersey in three seconds flat.

She has one tiny teat on the rear left quarter, and we had trouble milking it last night. We also couldn't get the calf to pail-feed even a drop, although Dave knows the technique for starting them at it. Dave finally gave up and let Stewpid in with the Jersey. After a bit, we went back to get the calf out. We should have tied Jersey first, but it was getting late, and we were getting tired.

As soon as Dave opened the pen, the cow started shaking her head at him. He bonked her one, but hit the bony part of her head. She didn't even notice. Then she charged him - not that she had room to get any momentum. Dave planted his foot square on her forehead and shoved right back.

Then he got a rope and stood on the outside of the pen. The cow was still mad at him, so she tried to butt him through the bars. He dropped the rope over her head as she came at him, then tightened it when she spun around to make sure she still had her calf. She got tied to a post, and the calf got removed from the pen. To her credit, once she was tied, she didn't kick or start jumping around.

I got to see a little of Grandpa's personality in my husband. This is not my grandfather with the paintings - this is Dave's grandfather, who drove a covered wagon across Manitoba during the dust bowl years, settled on a quarter of land, and built his own house. This is the Grandpa who made everything with his own two hands, whether fence posts, rope, buildings or food.

This is the Grandpa who was well-known for addressing the livestock with things like, "I win. You lose. Even if it takes a bullet, I win."

Actually, that was what my irate husband said to the cow. I smiled and enjoyed the rare display of masculine aggression. Dave's a very gentle man, and I don't often get to see the cow-kicking side of him.

This morning, I found out that I'm the world's worst milker, and we got the calf to pail feed. Tonight, I'm on my own with them. Fingers crossed.