The Calf Barn
The calves getting some extra food in the calf barn
I walked out to the calf barn today after several weeks away. Now usually that wouldn't be an accomplishment, but since I got my leg injured by a particularly defensive cow while vaccinating her calf, even this short walk is something to write home about. The calf barn is about 2,000 square feet, a pretty typical old barn that smells like aged oak and horses. It’s filled with dry bedding for the calves to snuggle up out of the wind, rain, snow, and keeps the cows, who would otherwise steal this space for themselves, out.
The first calf I walk by, number 32, doesn't even bother to stand. I remember finding her at 2 am, huddled and shivering in a snow drift and only a few minutes old. It was lucky I found her in time that a hot water bath was enough to pull her out of hypothermia. It took 3 weeks of bottles, plus her moms milk, to get her strong enough to rejoin the herd. She’s often a nuisance, always in my way when I’m in a hurry. Even still, the reminder of a life saved is worth the hassle.
I thread through the sleeping calves, careful not to wake them. But the infamous number 5 spots me and jumps straight into the air. He’s in such a hurry to get away that he stumbles over his front feet, doing a somersault and spending a few seconds in a dazed pile before running off again, a little more cautiously this time.
Now alert and wary I may be trying to trap them in the barn, the calves edge towards the exit. They’re led by number 12, my favorite calf. He’s a hunk; the cow equivalent of The Rock. I can't wait to use him as our next herd sire, fathering the next generation of Pole Creek cattle. I stand perfectly still hoping to stop them leaving. The calves, naturally curious, begin to inch back towards me. They thrust their necks out slowly as their curling tongues reach out to touch me, I suppose to see if I taste dangerous.
My healing knee is aching from the cold, so I shift my weight slightly to the other leg. This tiny movement is like a gunshot at a footrace, the entire group of 50 calves shoot out of the barn at top speed, led by the infamous number 5, now certain of my bad intentions. Though startled at first, soon the calves are each competing to lead the group, feeding off of each other's energy as they nearly collide, feint, and vault over each other with comically deep bellars.
They act like a flock of birds, billowing, scattering, reforming, and billowing again. The cows are agitated by their sonorous bawls and come thundering across the field. They plunge into the group of calves, who swirl around them in small eddies, slowly locating their calves and splitting off from the herd. One by one they find a quiet corner of the pasture and begin earnestly licking their calves, checking for any damage I may have done to them. And the contented, smug little faces of the calves peer around their mothers, their eyes already narrowing lazily in the afternoon sun. The calf barn is always good for a pick-me-up, and I grin all the way home.
Riley is the President of the Western States Red Angus Association and Livestock Manager at Pole Creek Ranch. A 27 year veteran of the cattle industry, he is passionate about sustainable and ethical beef production and sharing his love for Red Angus cattle.
