e went down by the evergreen copse on the west side of the pasture, away from the other cows, except for Dobken, who followed her down and stayed with her through the afternoon as she calved. It seemed quite odd, and was never repeated, but they definitely had that one mother-daughter moment.
As our herd grew, so did the personalities and quirks. Not all were good, one cow became a raving lunatic for the first three days after she calved, trying to kill her calf and anyone else who got near her. The fourth day, she was as calm as any cow in the barn and a good enough producer that we kept her in the herd. Another was a biter, but only when she was coming into heat. It could be quite a painful experience to walk in front of her on that particular day, but at least we didn’t have to guess when it was time to breed her.
Our herd is composed of both black and white Holsteins and red and white Holsteins and they mingle quite readily out in the pasture, but when they come in for the evening, you will find that they have segregated themselves. There will be a row of five or six black and whites, and then four or five red and whites, a couple of black and whites and so on. And then, there were Ger and Cranberry. Ger was a good size black and white cow from one of the best families in the herd. Cranberry was a well-built red and white from an equally fine family. They were born in February of 1998 and stood together as calves and then were pastured out together as heifers. They formed a lifelong bond of ill will and evil intention. Now, many of you will say that animals are not evil, that particular leaning applying only to mankind. Let me remind you that cows are among the cloven hooved. These two were born trouble makers, first to find the gate accidently left open and last to go back to where they should be; leave a manger open and they would walk down it, cleaning up the choice leftovers and pooping on every thing else. Every night at chore time, they would stand back a bit from the rest of the herd, waiting until all the other cows were in the barn and then, only if we sent Molley, our herd dog out, would they deign to grace us with their presence. They were bullies, pushing around any cows that got in their way, acting a lot like the bad girls who would go out behind the school during recess and smoke. I suspect that, if they had been able to strike a match, they would have tried even that bad habit. We thought perhaps that as they matured, they would be better behaved, but it never happened. Only when Ger left the herd did Cranberry become more compliant, but even then, there was a bit of sass in her attitude and a kick for the poor dog who had to get her moving in the direction of the barn. She left the herd this past fall, but not before she had graced us with at least one daughter who carried not only her coloring and production, but also a bit of her talent for trouble.
We call her the red elk. She has a beller* that once you hear, you never forget. She was due to calve in late September, and so joined the small herd of springing heifers and close cows in the paddocks behind the barn while the milking herd was put on the meadows for the last grazing of season. Every time one of the cows or heifers freshened, she would stay close to the cow and calf, stick by them like a burr when we tried to bring them to the barn, go into the stall that we wanted the fresh cow in, and then refuse to go back to the pasture without a fight, a run through a fence or two, a quick jog in the direction opposite that we wanted her to go and quick turns with her head down in an intimidating manner, all the while shrieking like a buck elk in rut. She was, unfortunately, the last to calve, so it was a long month and a half. She has spent the winter letting us know when she’s unhappy for any reason (or for no reason) with her trademark sound.
I suppose it would be easier to farm if all cows really were slow-witted creatures of habit, but it would probably get boring after awhile. Nonetheless, I think it might be worth a try.
*beller is a colloqu