ot seen as family members or pets, but on the other hand, neither do we see them as strictly organic milk factories. Most farmers walk a fine line in the understanding of their animals and the position they occupy. We raise all of our own replacements, keeping the calves from the cows whose production levels give the best percentage of income over production costs. This is not always the cow who has given the most.
I don’t remember a time when cows didn’t play a part in my life. I grew up on a small dairy farm that was run by my parents and grandparents. We had a Holstein herd, big black and white cows who grazed below the dirt road in pastures that stretched along the edge of the swamp during the day and up on the side hill above the barn after evening chores. There were cows in that herd that I still recall: The cow that our artificial insemination cooperative wanted a bull out of who had only heifer calves; the black witch who kicked everyone that went near her and kicked herself right out of the barn to the Tuesday cattle auction; the big, gentle cow who had a hormone imbalance and grew until she was too big for any of the stalls; and Speckles, a cow with a jaunty attitude toward life who let us ride her back to the barn, acting like a cow pony and herding the other cows. I should say here that, unless you are young and foolish, I don’t recommend riding cows. First, they have bony, peaky backs that weren’t made for a rider’s comfort and second, they don’t take direction well, often meandering off to browse through some particularly tempting clover.
Our own herd has had its share of memorable animals. We bought eight cows and 12 springing (close to freshening) heifers from Stan’s dad to start our herd. Among them was a big old cow we named Dobken who was the lead cow. She was a short, wide cow with an enormous udder and an equal amount of attitude. We also purchased a black heifer, Blackie, who had a bit of attitude all her own and, as it turned out, was Dobken’s daughter. When Blackie was close to calving, she 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