Get the Hook

“Hello. This is the after hour vet.”

“Oh no!” And blurting out, “It just came out,” I slapped shut the lid on Ray’s phone.

It was 11:00pm and I had just hung up on our vet, who no doubt had been woken up to return my call. No time to think about that; I could call and apologize Monday morning.

Right now, there was only one thing to worry about. Was this calf that Ray and I (mostly Ray) had been struggling to extricate from incarceration inside momma for nearly an hour dead or alive.

Shat Acres Crimson and her twin sister Clover had the prestigious honor of being born to momma Shat Acres Cinnamon Raisin on July 19, 2010. Crimson and Clover were named by the children of the State of Vermont by putting names into a ballot box at the Champlain Valley Fair in August 2010, where with momma they thrilled visitors at McDonald's Farm for ten days. Cinnamon Raisin, with twins Crimson and Clover trotting proudly at her side went on the win Grand Champion Cow/Calf in Denver at the National Western Stock Show in 2011, the first time a Highland cow with twins had won that class.

Cinnamon Raisin was a full-figured Highland, weighing over 1700 on the scales in Denver, all while raising twins Crimson and Clover. This was the first of Raisin's Cow/Calf and Supreme Championships, making Cinnamon Raisin the most winning Highland female in the US. Crimson has followed in Raisin's footsteps, winning championships herself and matching momma in size and stature.

After producing multiple calves, Crimson did not calve in 2024. Some breeders would dispose of a cow that does not calve successfully one year. We do not. We give that cow another chance for success the following year. We had Crimson pregnancy checked in October 2024. To our dismay, Crimson was not carrying a calf. She had been with our bull, Skye High Glen Rock "Rocky" all summer. With clearly no success.

Would we cull Crimson? Absolutely not. Was that the best economic decision for our farm. Probably not.

With no other occupation for Ray or me other than farming, our farm should be economically sustainable. But our Highland cattle are our friends and companions, serving purposes other than dead presidents. The Highlands keep the land open and regenerate our soils. They offer peace and comfort to our Highland House Farm Stay guests and Farm Tour visitors. And some of them produce locally, humanely raised 100% Grass Fed and Finished beef.

Although we have a special relationship with all of our animals, Crimson was near and dear to our hearts--especially Ray's--perhaps more so than some of our other girls. While missing Shat Acres Cinnamon Raisin every day, we could gaze out at Crimson and see momma Raisin in her stature, horns and grace. Crimson was here to stay, as long as her quality of life maintained. While Highlands can calve up to age twenty, perhaps we had to accept that Crimson, at age 15, would no longer be producing offspring.

"I think Crimson is going to calve," Ray had proclaimed about two weeks ago.

"Really? The vet said she was open when she preg-checked Crimson."

"It looks like she is starting to build an udder. You check and see what you think."

Rocky must have been sneaky, as I had missed the courtship and breeding event for Crimson, who definitely showed signs of an impending birth. Ray and I were ecstatic, but also apprehensive. But I am always apprehensive about calving. I never count a calf until it is on the ground, on all four feet, and nursing. Calving is the best, and worst, of times. When it goes well there is nothing more joyous, gratifying and affirming, for both cow and human. When it does not, it is devastating for the same. Momma cow has worked all year to produce a calf. Highland mommas have strong maternal instincts and grieve the loss of a newborn just as humans do. And we have paid to feed that mamma all year to grow the only product we have on our farm, a new calf.

Crimson was moved from the pasture into a paddock in front of the barn so we could monitor her progress more closely. As we had missed the breeding date, we also did not have a due date and had to rely on Crimson to let us know when it was time to move her into the cleanly bedded pen ready for her calf to be born in. As her udder continued to swell, and her privates enlarge we brought Crimson into the barn and closed the gate. Crimson does not mind being closed into a pen, as food and water are amply provided with a dose of extra combing.

We waited. And waited.

Checking Crimson day and night on nearly an hourly basis, we wanted to be sure we were doing everything possible to ensure a successful birth. After all, we had waited over two years for this arrival! Saturday afternoon Crimson had some discharge, a precursor to ensuing labor. No labor, just more contented cud-chewing. I began to get even more concerned.

At 9:00 Ray checked Crimson again. Her water had broken! An adult cow should successfully birth her calf within 1/2 to 3/4 hour after the water breaks.

"I'll give her some privacy and check her again at 9:30."

"I'm putting Crimson into the chute. Bring the calving toolbox. Meet you at the barn," was the directive when Ray rushed in and then back out.

Donning my barn boots and grabbing the always stocked calving toolbox and a flashlight I headed for the barn.

"Get some grain and put it in front of the chute. I've got to get her into the chute, and now."

Crimson, with a horn spread of 58" maneuvered her massive head and rack--turning this way and that--into the head gate of our HiHog Chute. The head gate was locked behind her head, ears and horns, allowing us to safely operate on the critical other end of her.

"Get me a glove and lubricant." Conversation is usually short and can be somewhat caustic in these situations. Seconds delay can mean life or death for the hostage in utero, and sometimes for the momma too. Donning the shoulder length yellow glove, I smeared it with lubricant. Crimson did not appear to be in labor and was not helping much to get her calf out. But her water had broken and the calf was no longer bathed in amniotic fluid. We were in crisis mode for sure.

The gloved hand was thrust into Crimson. No feet. No head. Breach positioning. Not good.

Grimacing and groaning, Ray tried to reach around and under the calf's butt to find a foot. And there it was!

"Get the chain. Make a loop."

And just as quickly as it had appeared it disappeared. The foot was drawn back inside momma Crimson. As frustrating as that was, guess what? That calf was still alive, keeping her one extricated back foot to herself. Finally after several more tries to get that foot out far enough to get a chain loop around its foot above the dew claw, one foot was secured. The calf could not hide that foot again, as long as pressure was kept on it, to keep it exposed.

But one foot is not enough to deliver a calf.

More lubricant. More struggling to untangle that second back foot still tucked under the calf's behind.

"Call the vet. I can't get this calf out. I'm going to need help."

Dialing the after-hours vet, the answering service picked up the phone. It was 10:30 pm on a Saturday night.

"Montpelier Veterinary Hospital answering service. How can I help you?"

And then silence. No! The battery in my phone had just died. I could not believe it. I always have my phone with me, and always keep it charged. Why tonight?

"What did the vet say?" Ray asked looking up from Crimson's hind end.

"My phone died. I couldn't tell them we needed help," I said ashamed and horrified at the same time.

"Take my phone," Ray said thrusting the hand not holding the single exposed foot into his jean's pocket.

Let me tell you about Ray's phone. He refuses to use a smart phone and has a prehistoric flip phone. It can't take pictures, it can't receive messages, and worst of all in this situation, it has no stored contact information.

"I'll have to go back to the house and get the vet's number," grabbing the flashlight and running towards the house. (Note to self, post the vet's number in the barn.)

Finding the vet's number on the refrigerator list, I dialed it again.

"We need a vet. This is Shat Acres. We have a breach calf and can't get it out. The cow is Shat Acres Crimson."

"The on-call vet will return your call within 15 minutes."

We are extremely fortunate to have our large (and small) animal veterinary hospital about 25 minutes away. Our vets make barn calls, and are usually at our farm within a half hour of calling back. We hoped that would be soon enough. I ran back up to the barn.

Ray had continued to try to coax that other foot to make its appearance while I was in the house. With sweat pouring down Ray's face, and a gargantuan effort the second back foot was finally turned around. With much pulling by Ray and lubricant smearing to enlarge the exit ramp, a chain loop was applied to back foot #2. Some unusual discharge appeared which made us nervous, and Crimson was bleeding, likely due to the scraping of the calf's hoof as they were extricated from under the belly of the calf.

"Get the hook."

With the hook looped over the chain, and a hoe-handle threaded through the hook, Ray crouched down on his haunches to get into the best position to pull the calf in a downward angle to be born, as would happen naturally. Bracing his feet against the back of the squeeze chute, he pulled and pulled as I continued to apply lubricant.

It seemed like that calf would never come out. A breech birth is very precarious and more likely than not unsuccessful for many reasons. A normal presentation should look like the calf is diving into a pool. Two front hoofs facing down, with a head positioned between those from legs. This gets the head out quickly after the water breaks and the umbilical cord severs so the calf can begin breathing oxygen. Once the head exits, everything else usually slides out easily. Most of the time Highlands do this perfectly well on their own, with no assistance.

With a breech position, the butt is facing the exit ramp. The butt is wider that the head and more difficult to pass through the opening. And the head is still stuck in the womb, cut off from oxygen after the umbilical severs as the hindquarters exit--that is if you can get the calf out at all. Ray had gotten the legs, which gave us something to pull on the try to get the butt out and the calf delivered.

But would the calf even still be alive if we could get it out? We pulled and pulled but seemed to be making no progress. Another concern is possibly injuring the calf by pulling so hard on the legs.

The phone rang. It was the after hour vet returning my call.

Flipping open the lid on Ray's phone, I answered the call. And then I hung up on the vet. Just as I had begun to speak, there was a whoosh and a thud as Crimson's calf broke loose from its enclosure and landed at the bottom on the chute. Ray tumbled backwards-- but there was no time for either of us to worry about that.

Was it possible that this calf might be alive? If by some miracle it were, we had no time to lose. I slid my fingers into the slimy mouth of the calf to clean any mucous, fluid or obstruction that might be there. (Might I mention that I was born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, grew up on Long Island, and that farming has been a steep learning curve for me, unlike Ray who has been farming all of his life and Highlands particularly for fifty-nine years.) Handing Ray a coarse towel he began rubbing the calf to dry it off a bit and stimulate breathing. And then we looked at each other with disbelief and joy! The newly released hostage's side began to rise and fall. Rolling her up onto her belly and legs to allow the greatest access for air to get into the lungs, the calf, gasping a bit, took in oxygen and let out CO2. While still rubbing her sides with a towel, there was a vigorous shake of that brand new, and still slimy, black head.

There were still critical things to do before uniting momma and baby, this time with baby on the outside instead of inside. A BoSe injection of Vitamin E and Selenium was administered into that came-first butt, and iodine applied to the navel. The calf was dragged into the straw-filled maternity pen. Crimson was released from her head gate in the squeeze chute and directed through the pens to her waiting calf.

A calf moving from high up in the uterus, down into the birth canal is what triggers labor contractions. This calf, stuck in its breech position was never going to descend into the birth canal. Crimson was not going to begin labor, or experience the contractions precipitated by labor's onset. Had Ray not made the critical decision to not wait any longer after her water burst and put Crimson into the chute to try and fetch the calf, there would have been a very different and tragic outcome. The calf would have perished inside momma, and we likely would have lost our beloved Shat Acres Crimson also.

Crimson was not able to help with the delivery, but once she was in the pen reunited with her calf, she knew exactly what to do. We were still concerned about whether the calf would be able to stand properly, due to the pressure applied to her joints by the strong and prolonged pulling on her back legs. The calf quickly allayed our fears, by first trying to stand and then succeeding in getting all four legs under her!

I knew our Farm Stay guests had been concerned about Crimson's calving situation. With my phone dead, and no contact information in Ray's phone to reach them, I drove to Highland House. There were still a few lights on. I rang the doorbell, and Travis answered, looking worried.

"I know it's late, but I wondered if anyone wants to see a ten-minute old calf."

Before long, headlights pulled into the driveway, and Travis Buckley and Kerri Reppucci rushed to the barn. We all watched in awe as nature did its work, with Crimson licking her calf and mooing to it, with the calf trying to get its balance as it made clumsy attempts to stand. Soon Jordan arrived on the scene, with all of us reveling in the miracle of the moment.

It was now nearly midnight. We decided to let momma and calf (and us) rest a bit before ensuring that the calf got colostrum within the first twelve hours of its life. Colostrum is critical for health in a calf, just as it is in human babies. Rich in protein and antibodies it is the first milk and must be consumed soon after birth. Antibody molecules are larger than milk molecules. A newborn's intestines are porous at birth, allowing the colostrum antibodies to permeate the intestine and get into the bloodstream. After around 15 hours the intestine becomes less permeable, so even if colostrum is given much later than that the benefits of it will never be absorbed by the calf.

In the morning we checked to see if the calf had nursed. It had not. Crimson is a terrific and skilled mother, but coming with those talents is a protective instinct that told us to stay away from her baby. Back into the chute it was for Crimson, to again ensure that not only was her calf born alive and well, but it would survive and continue to thrive. Crimson's udder was milked out, with the colostrum put into a bottle. The calf was hungry and eagerly drank the bottle. With Crimson secured in the chute, and the teats softened by the removal of some of her milk, Ray was able to direct the calf to the milk bar. With vigorous sucking sounds, the calf's belly was soon full and the udder empty.

Momma and baby were returned to their pen. The calf did need assistance to latch on for a couple of days, but after that first time using the chute for assistance, Crimson let Ray direct baby to udder in the pen. The calf is now happily nursing on its own, bouncing around on strong legs and bringing smiles to all who get to witness the incredible cuteness of a Highland calf.

When a new calf is born, I always ask Ray if it is a boy or girl. He usually responds curtly, "That's not what's important. Let's be sure it's healthy." True to tradition, I asked the same question on that late Saturday night. But unlike tradition, he answered:

"It's a girl!"

On Monday morning, I phoned the Vet (with my now recharged phone) and apologized for hanging up on her. Good vets are worth their weight in gold and should be treated as such. Just because I taught ours in first grade, does not give me any grace to hang up on one at 11:00 pm on a Saturday night!

Still the one. Crimson is quite a cow. And her girl is quite the girl. But I cannot think of a name for this special miracle that we fought to save, and she fought just as hard to live. Any ideas?

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