Julius Cowser

Things I learned:

1. I wasn't as squeamish as I thought I might be. 
2. A hamster (that well known farm animal) weighs about the same as a packet of crisps. 

We had a bit of excitement here at the Spittal last week. I say 'we'; it was probably only me that found it exciting. Everyone else undoubtedly found it expensive and lengthy. 

Last Monday evening, Ivie mentioned that he was going to check a cow and calf that were up in the pens. The calf had been born the day before and hadn't quite got the hang of sooking. Ivie wanted to make sure it was up on its feet and getting enough milk so that it could go out into the field the next day. 

Obviously, I take any opportunity to don my boiler suit and nosey at a baby animal (it'll wear off, I'm sure). Five minutes later, Ivie's brother, sister-in-law and nephew arrived down with a cow that was in calf. I was instructed to stand well back as they brought it into the crush for closer inspection. 

Apparently, the cow was 'in the notion' of calving but nothing had happened yet. I've heard this phrase bandied around from time to time and, from what I can make out, when a cow is near to calving she starts wandering around a bit more and taking herself away from other cows. This one was a heifer (which you'll remember from a previous blog means that this is her first calf, not that she's grossly overweight) so Ivie's brother thought she might need a bit of a hand. Up to the elbow.

After a bit of grappling, two big hooves appeared. I was looking forward to seeing my first calving so got into a good viewing spot. The big hooves disappeared back in. Time to phone the vet apparently. 

View from the Spittal
(cos I didn't have my phone when the vet was here)

It was starting to get dark so headtorches were fetched while we waited for the vet to arrive, as were buckets of hot water (I thought that was only on TV but evidently not). The vet arrived and informed us that her previous patient, a hamster, was 29g. A bit of a contrast then. 

It wasn't quite what I was expecting for a few reasons:

• The cow remained standing for the duration and didn't appear to be in any distress. 
• It was a hugely physical job with Ivie and his brother both called in to help lift the calf out at the right moment. 
• The cow should be able to have more calves in the future. Yay! 

Ivie's brother was instructed to hold the wound shut while the vet stitched it up and Ivie had the job of making sure the calf didn't die was ok. (Obviously, I stood with my hands in my pockets, resolutely not volunteering for anything responsible.)

The massive calf lay lifeless with his tongue hanging out for a few moments then began to rasp and wheeze. He was too heavy for Ivie to swing about like he might a newborn lamb so he lifted its body and offered, ahem, 'gentle encouragement' (and £1.50 for the swear jar).

Julius (as I'd now named him) coughed a few times and lifted his head. Then he started trying to get to his feet. Hail Caesar! 

Julius on walkabout the next morning

Lambing: Part 1

Things I know:

1. This is the third lambing since I started seeing Ivie (I know this because I have made three swear jars).
2. That's a potty-mouthed cow on the top one, not a sheep (I adapted it for calving).

Lambing began at the Spittal about ten days ago and, so far, there are around a dozen lambs. I have to admit, I'm still at the developmental stage of a three year old, "Look! Baby lambs!". I don't think anyone that actually lives on a farm ever passes through that stage. Farmers are born rolling their eyes and swearing at ewes. 

Sheep have a death wish, you see. I have it on good authority that from the moment they're born, their main aim is to die. They don't seem to have that survival instinct the rest of us have and, instead, they're looking for ways to roll on to their backs and die, prolapse and die and get stuck in a ditch and die. I detect a pattern emerging...

We haven't reached 'peak lambing' - as I like to call it - yet so Ivie still spends almost a full night in bed and conversation at lunchtime is as coherent as normal (on both sides). Give it a couple of weeks and Ivie will be snatching a couple of hours' kip here and there on the sofa and wandering through his days like a bit of a zombie. 

It's the time of year I feel most useless on the farm. It would take longer for Ivie to tell me what to do than to just do it himself so all I can do is keep a pot of soup on the cooker, keep the baking tin well-stocked and not make too many demands.

I like to go up to the lambing shed with Ivie last thing at night to see what's happening. So far this year I haven't seen any lambs being born but I did have a mama ewe glare and stamp her hooves at me last night as I tried to take a closer look at her baby. I left her to it and made Ivie pose for a selfie instead.