Rotten Fern

Monday passed in a blur. The nine hours of sleep over the entire weekend was not enough, and I cat-napped throughout the day, seven and twelve minute naps rudely broken off by tears over spilled bubble solution or hungry baby or other unexpected difficulties that demanded a mother's attention.

Phil proudly finished his milking station as dark fell last night. He pulled it down with the tractor. Clara and Charity did not have much issue with stepping in for milking. In fact, when Clara saw the door open this morning, she stepped up into the station herself. The allure of alfalfa cubes runs deep, apparently.

Sadly, the allure of alfalfa pellets did not tempt Fern. A day after being separated from her calf, we had hopes that she would submit to the milking machine. Phil did (finally) manage to get her into the milking station without being gored, but she struck out viciously with her hooves. An hour later, after patiently giving her time to relax, spritzing her with Arnica to reduce the trauma, and generally being as understanding as he could be, he came to the realization that I have known for some time: she has no place on this farm.

Really, as he said, "She hopped the fence when we went to pick her up. I should have declined to buy her right then." It's easy to say that in retrospect. But after a full day's drive, and the deep desire for heifers from this particular farm, we hoped for the best.

And Fern has been nothing but a pill. From the day she gored me after her first calf, to the constant horns she throws around when Phil gets close, she is not a safe animal.

But it is a bummer. Body-wise, she looks great. Her udder is lovely. Phil said yesterday how excited he was to milk her.

So to have that entirely denied him is a blow. He was bummed enough that he took a midday bath to soak away his sadness.

I'm thankful that we have enough margin in our life now that he can take some time to grieve a bit over that lost hope and expectation. It seems we've had so many instances of disappointment but not the space or time to really enter in to that sorrow ... it is good Phil can do so now.