We had opted against bringing a hay bale to the cows yesterday evening. The ground was slick from sprinkles yesterday (and the snow and half inch of rain earlier in the week), and they could pick through the hay on spread on the ground as needed. Rather than risk another tractor incident, we figured the tremendous winds would dry the earth well by the morning.
And that certainly happened! Phil brought a hay bale over, but returned so quickly I wondered if he had lost a bale again.
Nope! Babe was (finally) in labor. Hooves sticking out already and everything! Isaiah and Abraham got on jackets and the four of us headed over to see her.
I was thrilled to see that the front hooves were both presenting properly. A cleared nose was just visible, too. That meant no breech birth, and no danger of suffocation as the calf actually emerged (if the membranes stay intact, a calf can suffocate if the mother doesn't clear its nose quickly enough).
We watched through several incredible contractions. The baby didn't seem to progress at all. This was very strange. Calves should progress. Should we pull? Phil said we should wait, so we headed back home to research.
His instinct was correct. First-timers can use some extra time to stretch, and a baby can stay, nose out, one or two hours without danger. This was a great relief. We settled in for an hour, and I hoped to find Babe finished and up when we returned.
She was still down as we returned. What a relief, though: she had progressed! A little nose, with tongue, was showing.
But watching, Babe was reaching the end of her strength. She would grind her teeth into her pallet, moo in pain, and push almost constantly without any visible progress. I watched for about ten minutes, and a spot on the baby's jaw didn't come out at all.
I massaged her vulva a bit, and tugged to help open it. This is fairly standard midwife practice, and didn't feel intrusive. Within a few minutes, the enormous forehead broke free: progress at last!
But Babe was one pooped cow. After the head emerges, the rest of the baby is supposed to come out easily. But there was no progress. I took the baby's legs in my hands and tugged gently during each contraction, pulling down, not straight out, as I had read. And in this way, together, we birthed the baby.
The little baby sputtered and snorted, and seemed lively for a calf stuck in the birth canal for a couple of hours (meaning, she blinked and raised her head).
Phil and I got a peek: another girl!
We have a dozen females now (and three boys: a full-sized bull and a pair of bull babies born last summer).
But Babe didn't move. At all. Not only did she not stand up to lick her baby off, but she didn't even lift her head to see what had happened that caused her so much pain.
I covered the baby with towels against the wind (though Babe had chosen a well-secluded, protected site), and gave Babe Arnica for trauma, and dry molasses for energy. She licked half-heartedly, but mostly looked like she wanted a nap.
I then moved the baby closer to her mother. Babe appreciated that, and began to lick right away. She wasn't fully devoid of maternal instinct, just apparently lacking the strength to stand.
The baby, though, did not lack the strength.
She stood, looming over her mother, waiting for a chance to eat.
A bit later, I milked Babe (who had the most colossal plugs in her never-used teats: what a painful stripping out that must have been for her!) and fed the colostrum to the baby. Then we headed back to learn about birthing paralysis.
Apparently this happens when the mother is in the same position for a long time. The baby shuts off blood flow to a nerve, and the mother may (or may not) stand up again. After about twelve hours of being down, the odds are 50/50 that the cow will stand again. Some farmers opt to kill the mom for beef then; much longer, and the cow is a total loss.
Surprisingly, the book said that it's not best to let the mother rest. She really needs to stand up as soon as possible. If you poke the back leg gently with a pin and get no response, the prognosis is not good. Various recommendations: cover the nostrils so the cow feels like she's suffocating; the fear for her life will make her legs spring into action. Tug on her tail. One recommended hoisting, but another said that that is very traumatic for the hip tissues. (We don't have a hoist anyway.)
We made her a drench of 1 part aloe vera juice and 2 parts apple cider vinegar. With the Apis homeopathy added, I gave Babe an ounce or two. The pin test showed no response. The nose covering (as long as I could until I felt traumatized) provoked no response. I pushed at her backside. Nothing.
But when I went to milk again, she figured she might as well get up, and Babe stood without difficulty, and without swaying. She immediately began to eat, and I milked all teats without her moving away.
Once that colostrum was in the baby, baby Denise stood up and soon found the teats.
During my first birth, I had my friend Denise there to help, and Abraham thought that would be most appropriate. So Abraham named this calf, the first of our D-year cows. We are so thankful for a good outcome.
What a lot there is to learn on a farm!
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