Three bull calves drinking milk from this 'New Zealand style' calf nurser
Dusty on a dewey morning
It is an overcast afternoon. The clouds carry on in an apathetic way, as though they forget they're raining, but it's too late to stop. Garth and I walked to the barn where the cows were all gathered. Lucky and Dusty were lying together at the open door (we named the three bull calves after the 'Three Amigos': Lucky Day, Ned Nederlander, and Dusty Bottoms). The two nursing mothers lay with their calves. The newest one (still yet un-named) has the intense and stricken look that comes with being born. The whites of his eyes are still visible. He is as tall as 'Borg' at the hip despite being a week his junior. His legs are long and gangly. There were a few chickens making their way along the edge of the barn and he stood up and stumbled over to them, inadvertently chasing them away. He has a couple of white spots here and there, a testament to the vast genetic possibilities latent within even something as carefully managed as a cow with a pedigree. If we decide to raise one of them as a bull, it looks from here like 'Borg' is the better candidate. He is entirely black and compactly built, but there is much to be seen.
While two heifers would have been quite fancy, and one out of two would have been grand, I am not discontent with our lot. How could I be, when the dams are so well and their calves are beside them?