Herd Health

We had a great time at herd health this week. In theory one performs that management function on a monthly basis. However, here at Northview we only actually seem to get it done about once every three months. We don't have either a huge herd or a real massive budget surplus, but it still seems to work out all right.

Anyhow, we really like our veterinarian, who is a good friend along with being an outstanding animal doctor, so there is always an element of fun involved in the mix. Along with running around the barn puncturing butts with vaccines, checking for pregnancies, dehorning calves and all that good stuff we get a chance to catch up on each other's frantic lives for a few minutes.

This time, we found out that England, my favorite cow, is carrying a calf by Chilton. (Yay. Now if only it's a heifer.) And that the evil queen of the east line, 97, who has been getting meaner with each passing day, is NOT pregnant, and thus will be helping us pay our county taxes in a couple of weeks. Her stall will make a perfect spot for Alan's show heifer, Bayberry, who is not doing well with the heifer bunch and needs to come inside.

Then came the fun part.

The good doctor brought in her ultra sound machine. I had heard about this device many times and expected something about the size of a shopping cart. Instead the machine, which allows earlier diagnosis and confirmation of pregnancy and sometimes sexing of the fetus, was in a cardboard box smaller than a compact car battery. I had also expected some kind of complicated screen sort of thing with graphs and charts and the like, but instead the operator views the cow's interior with what looks like Martian space goggles.

We soon got to see that number 115, Voldemar, is indeed carrying a little bitty calf, smaller than my pinky fingernail. She gave 104 pounds for the tester last month so that was good news indeed. Then we took a look at 103's baby, which was enough larger that Liz and the boss could see the heart beating. My lousy vision without my glasses denied me that pleasure.

We are very aware of the unborn calves once they start to grow large. You can see them kicking. If like me you are a less than svelte middle aged woman squeezing into stalls beside bulging pregnant cows, you can FEEL them kick, sometime quite vigorously. Heck, Liz even talks to them, when they occupy the interior portions of her show darlings. However, it was especially cool to see such tiny, unformed future bovines. I am glad we had the chance and am thankful to our veterinarian for taking time to offer it to us.