I knew I was getting old the first time the barber, electric clippers humming in his hand, saw the need to trim off the hair growing from my ears. I watched my youth fall to the floor along with those ear hairs. It was a domino effect after that. Soon after I could no longer text and drive because the font on my phone became inexplicably blurry. Weird moles emerged on my back overnight. And my taste in movies shifted; artsy-fartsy now put me to sleep and anything I watched had to be A) funny, or B) have Hope. Most people watched
The Road and found it dark and soul-sucking, but I wouldn't shut up about it because, you got it, it ended with Hope.
The idea of Hope carries over to my ranching life as well. As a cattleman, I realize more and more that Hope is essential. Some call it Faith, but I prefer Hope. Hope speaks to the future; Hope takes work; Hope might even require a little luck. And it's why, I think, I like the Belted Galloway breed so much.
Belties are tough boogers. They act differently than the Angus cattle we raise on our ranch and there's been a transition getting used to their "flock and run" behavior. But one had a calf last week that reminded me why I like them and why they feel like Hope.
Our strawberry Beltie calved, a little sooner than we expected, but the heifer calf was spry, healthy, and cute as all get out. Regina went down to check on it the day after it was born and called me to say we had another new calf. Emma, one of our favorite mothers, had a tiny, dirt-crusted, bull calf curled up by her hooves and we could tell immediately it was a premie. Regina checked her books and it looked like he was almost 5 weeks premature. I was skeptical we could do anything to save it but we had to try. Regina and the kids quickly got her and baby in the corrals and I got what little milk I could from Emma. The baby was a fighter (not as common in bull calves), and even though getting him to stand was like holding a block of Jello, he nursed his mother's milk from a bottle.
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| Hiding baby |
So we kept trying. By the next day my Hope rose and I proclaimed he had a 50/50 chance of making it. He still couldn't stand on his own, so we kept milking Emma and feeding the baby. We even brought in our strawberry Beltie with the new baby and milked her, just to supplement Emma's milk. By the evening of the second day I upped his odds of making it to 60/40. And then, like a lot of premies, he crashed. The 3rd morning he wouldn't drink. I tried again mid-morning, and again in the afternoon, and again in the evening. I finally poured less than 1/4 of a bottle down his throat and left him for the night. It sucked. I knew he'd be in worse shape by morning. I'd seen it a million times.
And here's why I love Belties, and why I can't forget to lose Hope. When I came down the next morning, I was full of dread about what I'd find in that little pen at our corrals. Instead, I saw little Jello legs standing on his own and Emma had been nursed. It was all I could do to not give a loud Whoop! I backed away quietly and let them settle in. By that evening the baby was walking and by the next day he was running and bucking (awkwardly) and getting his fill of milk on his own.
And that's Hope. Belties are tough. They're excellent mothers. And tiny little premie bull calves sometimes turn out ok.
