Recently I have been overwhelmed by a sense of my own stupidity. Two weeks ago my builder wrote me an angry email. He said he was too busy to meet to discuss the remaining work; he disparaged my husband; he said he had lost $15K on my job due to having to work around us after we moved in. He wrote that in a couple of days he would send a list of the work he was willing to complete.
I was so flabbergasted to be attacked when I thought I had been nobly patient and kind (we moved in on our contracted “finish date,” as we had no choice, and then lived, without complaint, in construction chaos for months) that I did not let myself respond. I figured I would be polite and professional when he sent his list. He sent nothing. After ten days I wrote him a short, kind email as a prompt. No response.
I tell myself he will complete some of the work he has been paid for, and the rest I will have to figure out. I find I am most upset by my misjudgment. Over the months the builder had come to feel like a friend. I lost sight of the reality that he was an employee. Now that he owes me labor and materials, I am apparently resented like an enemy. My heart has been sore and I have felt like a fool. A limping, tired, old fool.
Meanwhile I have realized that the farmer who sold me Flora played me for a sucker. Primed with the helpful information from Daisyhill, a reader, I googled bottle teats in Angus cattle. In my years of dairy experience I had never heard of bottle teats. It is indeed a heritable trait in beef cattle and a problem that farmers cull for. Clearly my farmer culled Flora after her first calf by selling her at full price to me.
The night I realized this I could not sleep. Of course I had inquired why he was selling. Just downsizing, he said; he had a herd of fifty. But looking back, all the clues were there. Out of this large herd of black Angus, only Flora wore a collar. I did not think to ask why. He told me she was tame and loved slices of bread. I did not ask how or why this particular heifer had learned to like bread. I simply thought, That’s sweet.
Once again, I was a fool. It is now obvious to me that Flora’s impossible bottle teats were a problem in her first calving, that the farmer enticed her into a squeeze chute with bread, got her milked out enough to allow the calf to nurse the bad teats, put a collar on her to mark her, and then put her up for sale after the calf was weaned and her udder dried off and shrunk back to normal.
The one-two punch of my unwisdom with the builder and the farmer were hard to bear. I wailed to DH, “I feel too stupid to be allowed outside!’
I trudged through the days. I mowed and listened to hymns, trying not to hear the refrain in my head: Flora has this genetic flaw. Her cute little bull calf and all her offspring will carry this genetic flaw. My Jersey girl Moxie is old, arthritic, and fragile; the bull Red and steer Ikey have a slaughter date in July; now Flora and her bull calf… Essentially my entire herd should be culled. I was sunk in gloom.
I moved the sheep every day. I took care of Alison’s horses. I put up my chalkboard. And I tried to figure out how to get Flora into the barn. Since calving she had developed an unreasoning fear of coming inside. On June 10, five days after calving, I could see her front teats were in bad shape. The calf Riggins was nursing from the rear. He was hungry and butting her bag, not realizing that the swollen gourds in front were actually giant teats full of milk.
That day the biting flies were particularly fierce. Flora’s face was covered with them. I was determined to bring her inside with the other cattle. Carrying a pitchfork in case she charged me, I circled around and then, shaking the fork and yelling at her, I drove her step by step toward the barn door. I had a cold feeling in my stomach as she repeatedly turned to face me, protecting her calf, but I made myself yell louder. Step. Step. Suddenly, ten feet from the doorway, Flora remembered that she actually loves the barn and trotted in without a backward glance.
The bull calf Riggins had scampered off in a panic but Flora was so happy to be in the cool gloom she made no attempt to call him in.
The next morning was hot, the flies were biting, and all the cattle were eager to be let inside. Riggins trotted along behind his mother.
I was sure this was the happy start of a new routine. Unfortunately, after those crucial five days of his mother’s instruction that the barn was the lair of ogres, he reached the doorway and again bolted.
This time Flora was concerned. She walked outside again and mooed; she paced and bellowed; but Riggins paid no attention. Finally she came in alone. He was eight days old before I finally got him safely into the barn.
However I still haven’t been able to deal with Flora’s bottle teats. When her baby was not with her I tried to put my hands on her. Flora is terrified of touch and I always keep in mind that she’s about 900 pounds with a mind of her own. When I first brought her home, I had thought to have her in the smaller stall across the aisle. She attempted to jump the gate and instead just crashed through it. (Oh, you want to be in the stall next to Moxie instead? Fine.) So I have been careful not to crowd her to a point of panic.
I have been quiet and gentle and persistent. I managed to curry her back with my hands, which she nervously appeared to enjoy as I was rubbing out the remnants of her winter coat. By moving very slowly, rubbing constantly, I got my hands on the huge right teat. I have very large hands for a woman and to encircle the teat for milking required both. I even managed a few squirts before she jumped and moved away. I kept after her, slowly, slowly. Unfortunately when I touched the enormous, hot left teat, she kicked out at me and I roared reflexively, “No!” That scared her and we were done for the day.
I cannot get a halter on her. I cannot get her in the stanchion. I have no squeeze chute. With every passing hour, the swollen teats get worse. Riggins does not touch them.
Clearly, in the future I must train every heifer I own to go in the stanchion for a treat. However that won’t help Flora now.
I won’t give up on this problem, but I’m feeling overwhelmed by my many mistakes with no clear solutions.