In Which I Am Gored by an Irate Cow

Morning milking went fairly smoothly. Phil put a collar on Reese and we tied her, which had not ever happened to her before. But what I noticed last night and this morning was that once her small amount of grain was gone, she was done and ready to move on. But, since I have only two hands and she has three teats that need milking, I am not as fast as a machine, and so she has time to be bored and dance. Tied, her dancing was restricted.

Her udder is enormous. Apparently, that is because it is swollen from her recent birthing, and should reduce in size in the next couple of weeks. It is certainly not all milk: even after I've milked her dry, the size of the udder doesn't seem noticeably different. (I had recently finished milking in the photo.)

She didn't appear to have eaten anything overnight, so I was a bit surprised that she gave two more gallons (plus probably another half gallon or so that spilled). Good for her!

Phil and I then walked her from her overnight holding pen to the other cows. This was, perhaps, a third of a mile, and it took us well over an hour. She is one stubborn cow! Even with a bit of grain to tempt her, she would move a few steps and then set her feet firmly. I would pull on her lead and Phil would push on her hip (which was nice once we were heading downslope), but even still, she never really got momentum. Happily, we weren't in much of a hurry.

She is a very tall cow. Standing at her shoulder, she is only about half an inch below my shoulder. The Milking Devon cows are about five inches shorter at the shoulder, coming up just over my elbow. She is extremely skinny, but has a good gloss to her coat. Her breeder is known for docking tails, which I find about as abhorrent as debeaking. Poor girl cannot get rid of flies. She has her own form of beauty, I suppose.

When she finally reached the new paddock, she walked around a bit more, and suddenly her left front hoof cracked and began to bleed. I know the previous owner said that we would need to keep on her, to make sure her hoofs were okay, but I wasn't expecting issues within twelve hours of getting her home! I was expecting to be able to trim her hooves when she was lying down (which is what Anita did), but she is not yet comfortable enough with me to stay lying down when I approach.

At that point, Phil had finished the new paddock and allowed the Milking Devons to come and join her. Lame in her right rear foot, hobbled by her bleeding front left foot, she could hardly get away fast enough from the horned cows. They weren't necessarily cruel, just establishing ascendancy ... firmly.

I hiked back to get the clippers and some homeopathic aids. But since it was now approaching noon and I had had little of nutritional value since sometime midday yesterday, my mind was not fully functioning, and I left the lead rope in the motor home when I hiked back to deal with her hoof. Without a way to tie her, I couldn't get close enough, and so I returned to the house, quite tired from head to toe.

As evening approached, Phil and I went down to milk Fern in one paddock and Reese in another. We had debated whether to continue milking Fern, since we get so little, but it seemed like a good idea to at least keep up her training in walking on a rope and standing tied.

Bitsy tagged along. I was getting Fern tied up when I noticed she was eyeing Bitsy a little oddly. I moved to pull her rope more tightly, to get out of reach of her horns, but she suddenly charged Bitsy, who skittered out of the way. I, though, was holding her rope, and she charged me up against the fence, got my right leg at the groin with her left horn and lifted me into the air.

I think I was shrieking at this point, and Phil, only steps away, was yelling and running towards us. I think Fern was as surprised as we were, to find me on her horn instead of Bitsy, so she quickly set me down. I hustled Bitsy out of the pen, sobbing loudly to let off steam. Phil grabbed Fern's lead rope, and by the time I came back, I milked Fern with Charlemagne's help. That cup or so was hard won today.

As dangerous as that was, I have only an angry red streak about seven inches long. No torn clothes, no broken bones, no gushing blood. And a good story, if you like traumatic stories about dumdums who let their dogs get too close to calves. I don't intend to duplicate that mistake.

We next went over to milk Reese in her home turf for the first time. Phil put up a cattle panel to tie her to.

I found her lying down in the shade. Her broken hoof had broken off, so I didn't trim it. She stood up immediately and steadfastly refused to go with me. Phil finally pushed her long enough and hard enough that she came, but she is one stubborn cow! Fern, by comparison (barring the horn issue) seems tractable!

Reese's sunken side looked like she had refused all forage all day. Her compatriots in rotational grazing were all lying down in the tall grass, ruminating, but she was down in the woods, apparently just stewing.

I didn't dare give her the bit of grain from her previous home to tempt her to milk well: if all she eats today is grain, could that make her acidic?

Consequently, she gave a single gallon (well, more, but she kicked a horse fly that I was watching to swat, and that split second of inattention lost probably a third of my milk). Three gallons for the day is good. But half the production this night v. last night is bad. We hope she settles in soon.

I am also a little concerned with her left rear quarter. Her left front quarter is the dead quarter, and I noticed both last night and this morning that the left rear gives only about half the milk of both quarters on the right. I suppose this makes sense, but in the evening, she didn't seem to let down at all on that left side. After milking, the bag seemed symmetrical, but didn't feel the same on all quarters. But if there was more milk in there, I couldn't get to it. May the Lord grant that she not get mastitis!

To end on a completely different note: Phil spent some time scything around the peach trees, where the chickens had not grazed. They were quite grown in!