That time our entry porch morphed into a vile bog of stench and mucous-slimed bodies...
It’s winter in western South Dakota circa 1980. The snow piles thick against outside doors and walls where it hides from the bitter winds. The empty spaces on the front entry porch-way, where canned goods and potted plants usually rest, are replaced by distorted mounds of scotch caps, gloves, coveralls and galoshes.
To the right is another porch area for the washer/dryer combo, extra refrigerator, meat freezers and "war-zone" sink for carburetor cleaning, calf nuts, fish guts and other assorted ranch accessories not allowed in the “good” sink for dishes.
This particular year, the weather is more erratic than most. Which is a humble statement considering South Dakota holds records for weather changes. Winter blizzards followed by breaks so warm even a Californian could get out for a jog. What it also meant was an endless supply of mud – and something else more dangerous and frightening.
As the snowplows in town grunted the streets clean, my Father would sip coffee by the fire waiting for the next heifer check. Donning his infamous sheep wool cap with the giant red ball on top, he bobbed and hopped his way through heaps of snow to the calving lots.
After an hour the front door burst open with Dad yelling for Mom.
A half-frozen calf cradled in his arms. “Grab blankets and the tarps and the formula! I gotta go back” he yelled.
The house quickly came alive as the family swarmed into action. Coats, boots, gloves, plants, canned meat, BB guns, and assorted items all went to the living room. Plastic tarps went from wall to wall with a layer of blankets and then towels.
The calf was placed and quickly rubbed down dry just as Dad burst in again with another calf. By the fifth trip, he took a short break for coffee and to assess the homemade NICU/M.A.S.H. unit.
We had a problem.
These weren’t the newborns down from the cold. These were a couple days to a week old. Foul smelling scours painted every surface. The wretched aroma rose thick like heat waves from a desert road. We had a problem.
Dad being a country vet, knew it was a digestive disease. Probably migrated in with a new load of heifers he recently purchased.
Running to his vet truck, he returned to the sink with an armful of various products. He didn't just bring medicine; he brought a literal arsenal from the truck. Some to stop the pathogen strike, some to dam up the scours, and some to replenish and rehydrate.
Over the next few days, we fought this invader and didn’t lose a single calf. We counted our blessings – we were lucky. Dad was a vet and had what we needed on hand.
We survived that week because of an on-site vet and the vet truck parked in the driveway. Most folks aren't that lucky. They're stuck watching a calf fade while they wait for help to arrive.
Today, forty six years later, he would have grabbed Calf Recover. It’s a life saving tool with everything in a single tube.
Or, better yet, we have Calf Start to prevent such events from happening in the first place. Both are available in a PASTE and POWDER in case you want to mix with milk replacer or water.
Grab yours at lifestockhealth.com
Use code: healthycalves20
For 20% off your first order and get prepared for calving season as it is upon us!
- Robo