I grew up near Castle Rock, Colo., and my parents still have a home between there and Parker. We take a handful of bred cows down to his acreage and a neighbor’s pasture each summer to graze, lollygag in the creek, and rest in the shade of the cottonwoods. Typically, we pick them up right after state fair when they’re hot and heavy bred. They’re easily penned with a little cake and are seasoned enough to know this is their ride home to calve.
One of the cows to go there this year was Cherry, a Hereford cow that is a retired showgirl. She’s gentle and halter broke and, well, a Hereford. Not exactly an outlaw, this one. This year she was a recipient cow for an embryo, and I was thrilled to see she preg checked “safe to ET.”
The neighbor called to let us know Cherry had calved (early) and we decided to leave her there for a week or so rather than squish her into the trailer with the heavy bred cows. We came back and she brought a calf with her to the corral. It was not, however, the calf he had previously seen with her. When he recalled his wife mentioning seeing a glimpse of a fluffy white sheep in the oaks, it all became clear. Twins. Embryo transfer twins.
As if a bright white calf on a Hereford cow didn’t already cause some confusion, we now had two. In all the embryo transfer work we’ve done, it has been incredibly rare to have an embryo split. The trio was a big hit with the other neighbors.
The neighbor continued feeding Cherry daily cow cake and she made a habit of coming to the corral with both calves. I headed south to pick them up Thursday morning once they were penned. This area between Castle Rock and Parker is rough country with thick brush. I am built neither for speed nor endurance and having hiked up and down those hills in previous years bringing cows to the corrals, I knew this to be true.
The neighbor and I had Cherry and one calf loaded when the other calf made a dash for glory, sneaking under a metal panel and heading for the hills. There was cursing. Another neighbor arrived and my parents also arrived. We were so close to having the three into the pen three times that I could taste it.
The fourth time I was making my way through the brush, my right shoe squishing with creek water, and my lungs on fire, I was contemplating my life choices. I was trying to pick my way through the brush without leaving the half of my hair that I was still in possession of and without becoming an unwitting tick host, and I couldn’t find the cattle.
It was then I heard a voice booming from above.
“Rachel…the cow is on your right…”
I was sucking air and trying to hear the voice over my pulse pounding in my head.
“What?”
“On your right…move toward your right…”
I thought for a moment I was receiving instructions from on high, instructions from the Creator himself. I debated if walking toward the light would have been wise at that point.
My dad appeared, descending from the rock above me, still with a visual on the cow. He was not out of breath. Genetics are funny.
I think we eventually just wore Cherry down. The three found one another under a cottonwood tree and we carefully moved them to the corrals. She stopped just outside the pen for a bite of cake. I called her unflattering names.
When Cherry and one calf jumped in the trailer, I had visions of having to cross the creek and the drainage, and scale the hill again only to crash through the brush with all of the grace and athleticism of an inebriated rhino with a limp. I nearly cried.
When the calf found the hole and jumped into the trailer, I bounded after him with the bounce of a woman who hadn’t contemplated the reality of that morning’s protein shake sadly being my last meal only moments ago.
I checked the trailer latches five times each, and that is no exaggeration.
Comments