Lucky and Sunshine

In the last newsletter, I told you that cows can appoint babysitters; tell their calves to lie perfectly still until Mom returns. But I wonder what else they can communicate, or if they can communicate anything else? To my mind, they can.

Last summer, I saw a bull lying in the ditch, opposite someone else's property. I called the owner to tell him that his bull was out on the road. The reply astonished me.

"Nah, that's not my bull. It belongs to some other guy. He's been wandering around for days."

It turned out he knew who the owner was, and had made no attempt to let him know that his bull was gone. I immediately tried to call the owner of course, but got nothing but answering machines. And a little while later the bull was on the move, coming towards my property. I opened the gate, and when he came near it, I asked him if he wanted to come in. Now, that might sound strange to you - ask him if he wanted to come in? But that is how I treat animals. I will talk to them and usually if they understand what I mean, they will do what I ask. Certainly, there will be no screaming, shouting, waving of arms. To the bull I might have said something like, "Why don't you come in here?" And sure enough, he calmly walked in. I succeeded in contacting the owner later on in the evening, and we agreed it would be best to move him in the morning. In broad daylight, the man arrived with his trailer and backed it up against the gate, but the bull did not want to move.

"He knows," said the man, "He doesn't want to leave."

to err is human. but

Little Out Of The Blue was growing up nicely, enjoying the pasture, wandering around with the herd, being generally admired by all of them. Even Sweet Nothing had stopped teasing him. He was clearly enjoying his life, but I wondered if the addition of a calf his own age would make his existence more enjoyable. So I began phoning around, asking anyone if they had a cow/calf pair they were willing to sell. I hit paydirt with the Hutterite colony. Yes, they were willing to let me have one of their cow/calf pairs. I went to take a look at them, which, in my own mind, is a bit of a joke. It would have to be a most obvious flaw for me to recognize it. But this pair looked perfectly fine to me. The cow was a little on the thin side, but the calf, the calf was something else! Well-proportioned beautiful strong legs. He was one of the nicest calves I had ever seen. The two were delivered the following day. I named the cow 'Lucky'. Her tag number was 522. The Hutterites have hundreds and hundreds of cattle, and if she was the one chosen to come here and spend the rest of her life, she indeed was a lucky one. The calf's name would be 'Sunshine'. He was bringing so much joy into my life that this was the only suitable name.

Some animals, in any herd, are a bit on the bossy side, and they take it out on any newcomer. So Lucky was occasionally pushed away from whatever clumps of hay she wanted to eat. I took care of that by putting out so many clumps of hay - here, there and everywhere - so that when someone shouldered her aside she could go on feeding. Lucky rook full advantage of that. I don't think I've ever seen her when she wasn't eating. As far as the idea of a playmate for Blue was concerned, bullseye! The two calves met and liked each other immediately, and became inseparable to the point where even the mothers became friends, because as cows will be with their calves, and the calves were always together, then so were the mothers. Wherever Blue was, Sunshine would be, too. And one day that was in the ditch outside the property, next to the road. It was a wide, dry ditch, with a luxurious growth of grass because no one was grazing there. And there they were, having the time of their lives, rubbing on the grass, chasing each other, jumping around. They were such a charming sight that I just sat and watched.

to forgive is bovine

Eventually, my young calves became tired, and after quite a while of this they decided that the grass was just as good to lie down in as it was to eat. Time to get them back inside. In that half mile of fence, there were only two gates. And, of course, they were right in the middle, equally far away from either one. I opened the one I thought as just slightly closer, and went back to try and nudge them in the direction of that gate. Blue gave me a startled look. This was the first time in his life that anyone had asked him to do anything, and he wasn't having any of it! He gave me one more look, and just dove through the fence to join Ace, his mother. This was nothing new to Sunshine. He had been herded all his life before he came to me. He would nibble on some grass, take a few steps, perhaps even a playful jump or two as we worked our way up the hill towards that open gate. Fencepost by fencepost we worked our way up towards the gate. Only fifteen left, now only ten. Five now. And we were just within one when Sunshine stopped to think. I suspect it went something like this:

"I've had a lot of grass, and I've had nothing out of the wonderful bag mother has for a long time. I think I'll have some!"

And with only one post to go before we would've reached the open gate, he effortlessly slipped through the fence and trotted off to find Lucky. The excited twitch of his tail told me he had found exactly what he was looking for.

Two or three months after I bought Lucky and Sunshine, a couple of the Hutterites came by to help me with something or other. At the end of the day they said to me,

"We can't find our cow! Did you get rid of our cow?"

"No, I didn't. She's right out there."

"Well, we can't find her."

In the truck, the three of us went out to have a look. And of course, there she was.

"That's our cow?" they asked, with their mouths hanging open, "That's our cow?"

"Sure is. Look at the number, five-twenty-two."

They had been looking for the animal that had arrived here. At that time Lucky was, perhaps, 1000, 1100 pounds. She was now at least 1600. A round, healthy, stocky cow.

"And by the way, why did you sell me Lucky and Sunshine?"

They did not know, but were back with the answer the following day. She would not let the calf suck. No wonder they had sold her to me. A cow that refuses to suckle her calf is not an overwhelming problem. She will simply have to be guided into a small stall where she cannot run away from the calf, and possibly have her head tied to the rail on the side. Even then, she may kick the calf. Obviously, judging by the great condition which Sunshine was, they had gone through great pains to make sure that she did eventually feed him, but no rancher will want to go through that kind of rigmarole again the following year, hence the sale.

To me, the news that Lucky would not let Sunshine suck was astonishing. Whenever a new animal comes to the ranch, be it a dog, cow or horse, whoever, for the first two days I watch very carefully, of course, to see if there is any problem. I had done the same thing when Lucky and Sunshine arrived. And one of the prime concerns with any cow/calf pair was how does the cow treat her calf. By Sunshine's appearance, strong and healthy as he was, I did not anticipate any problem. And sure enough, they were only out of the trailer for a few minutes when he went to her bag, and she stood there with that beatific expression on her face that cows have when they nourish their young.

Lucky's behavior, once she was here, made it perfectly clear that her refusal to let Sunshine suck was not due to physical discomfort. Something in her life had her so upset that it overcame her natural love for her son. All that changed once she came here. Her change of mind had been instant.

Whenever I come driving up the road, it looks to me as if my herd resting in the pasture look more content and calmer than any other. They have an air of 'This is our place, no one will ever harm us here,' about them. Of course, that might simply be pride of ownership. No, that's the wrong word. I don't ever feel as if I own them. Perhaps that is something they sense, too. Apparently, it is not just in my imagination. Lucky could see it, too. And based on what she saw, decided life would be worth living.

I would be satisfied if they did not have a clue, simply went on leading their lives. Knowing from what fate I am saving them would be reward enough. But knowing that they understand makes every hardship worthwhile, and no effort too great.