So, I’ve written quite a bit about our deer problems. But now they’ve taken a whole different turn. Now the deer are dying.
I don’t mean that one or two has met its maker in a peaceful ceremony performed by the deer-healer. No, we’re talking more than a dozen of them, all lying in our feed. I actually believe that there are at least two dozen carcasses, but I’m not interested in actually going out and counting. Here, see for yourself.
So, yeah, it’s a problem. And here’s the kicker…why are they dying? There’s plenty of feed (although, truth be told, deer aren’t meant to eat dairy-quality alfalfa, so that could be part of the problem), they’ve made nice little burrows in our haystacks, which should be providing excellent cover. Do they have diseases? Are they sick?
Next comes, what will happen to our feed? Is our herd at risk?
The master-minds at Game and Fish are supposed to be here in the morning. One of our neighbors called them this evening. It seems that one of the deer decided to die next to his house. Even kicked the house as it was taking its last breaths. I’m very sorry that the deer caused such a commotion, but I’m grateful that our neighbor called Game and Fish to complain. Perhaps if we’re not the only ones calling, they’ll start paying more attention.
Well, I better head to bed. There’ll be a long night of checking cows, since it’s so cold tonight. Plus today was a very stressful, crazy day. I’ll tell you more about it later.
If I remember.
We have about 40 cows that have calved now, with about 135 or so to go. Since we calve in February and March, in the great warm state of North Dakota, I thought I should explain how all this works.
You see, the state of North Dakota tends to get kinda cold in the winter. And since we prefer our calves to be the living, breathing kind, we try to make sure that each calf is born in the barn. Since that is almost impossible, we at least try to get the calf into the barn as quickly as possible, so that frostbite damage is minimal.
How do we do this?
Boss Man and I take turns checking the cows, constantly. As in every 2 hours. Unless it’s really cold or storming, then we check more often. Yep, that’s right, every 2 hours max. This means that every 2 hours someone is bundling up, heading outside and checking each and every cow behind the house. Right now there’s about 80 that we’re watching. (Cows cycle, just like humans, so we use ultrasound technology to date the development of the calf in the fall, which gives us a pretty good idea as to when they may be born in the spring.)
I’ve been pretty lucky so far, I haven’t had to chase any cows in during my checks, just call Mark a time or two when a calf was born outside. Until tonight. As we speak, a heifer is in the barn, ready to have her calf any minute. I will check on her in a few minutes, and if she hasn’t had her calf, then I will need to wake up my husband and have him use his expertise to help her. Hopefully I will go down to the barn, be greeted with a fresh pair of eyes and all will be well, and my hubby will be able to enjoy another few minutes of sleep.
And then I’ll be able to catch a few winks myself…at least that’s the plan.
After a week or so of really great weather, Mother Nature decided to remind us once again that she is definitely in charge. I’m sitting at my computer at 11 p.m., already knowing that school has been delayed by two hours tomorrow morning.
What does the bad weather mean to someone calving? Well, it means no sleep.
Since we are in a full-scale blizzard, Mark and I are checking the cows every hour. So, I’ve been taking the first few hours of checks. And, to tell you the truth, I’m exhausted. Going out and checking cows is tiring. Doing so every two hours is tiring. Doing it every hour…well, you can about imagine.
The worst part isn’t going out and checking. The worst part is knowing that you’re nice and toasty warm inside. Then bundling up in multiple layers, getting nice and warm and sweaty while doing so. Then, once everything is on (my attire: two pairs of pants, double socks, two sweatshirts, heavy jacket, gloves, hat, hood, scarf, Muck boots), grabbing the spotlight and heading out behind the house.
Our lot that we have the cows that are calving in is behind the house, at the bottom of the hill, which is great when going out. Unless it’s icy. Then, after walking through snow (sometimes knee-deep or more) and checking out 80-some cow-butts (Boss Man says that a cow just “looks off,” but I need to see physical proof that something is going on, like a balloon-looking bag of blood and water hanging out her rear, or toes sticking out, or a calf laying on the ground next to her!), I tredge back up the hill to the house.
It’s while out there, in -10 or colder weather, with the snowing freezing my eyelashes to my scarf, checking out some beautiful bovine behinds, that my mind starts to wander. And I’ve been hit lately with a storm inside me, which is part of the reason why my blog has been quiet.
With George’s potential diagnosis, and all that it entails, I’ve been contemplating the future…and fighting the battles within. I know that worrying doesn’t help any, but guess what, I’m a mom…how can I not? And I think it would be pretty ignorant of me to not be prepared for things to be rough at times. I know they will be.
I know that we’ll have hospitalizations. I know that I’ll have to deal with physicians that don’t have a clue as to what I’m talking about, and may not even take me seriously. I know that I’ll even have family that won’t understand what I’m going through, or where I’m coming from.
And then there will be the school system. The insurance company. The state. The pharmacies.
But for tonight, there’s a storm brewing outside…and that out-trumps the one in.
So, I’ve spent a few weeks making a major adjustment. And I mean major. Now that George is under a low-protein diet, life has become interesting.
Some of the adjustments that have been made: no more cereal and milk in the morning, no more bacon and eggs, no more cheese, no more ice cream treats, no more sleep. Just kidding on the last one.
Actually, this diet has been a bugger. I have been letting him sleep in, so that the other boys have breakfast before he wakes up. Then we start with fruits, veggies, applesauce, all in unlimited quantities (unless the veggies happen to have some protein in it). The funny thing is, that I don’t think George ever feels full anymore. And I kinda get why.
I mean, what’s more satisfying than a piece of toast, or a serving of pasta, or a nice, juicy hamburger? All which are now off-limits (at least in any significant quantity).
Now, to clarify, this isn’t just a diet that I can decide that it’s not worth the effort and let him slide on. We are very, very fortunate that we’ve caught it this early on, and any damage done he should be able to recover from. In fact, I’ve already noticed a change in energy, balance and we’ve added two new words consistently: “Hi!” and…”MOM!!!” WOOHOO! Talk about a sweet sounding word! Of course, his favorite is still “Dad,” but at not-quite-2 I can’t fault his taste.
When we returned from our last conference serving on the American Farm Bureau Young Farmers and Ranchers committee, there were a few letters waiting for me. One gave us the tentative diagnosis (we’ll be completing the genetic testing in April) of Ornithine Transcarbamylase deficiency (OTC). The other was our “free pass” at the ER.
You see, OTC apparently isn’t something you can mess with. Through all the mysteries of what is happening inside of George, when he’s not breaking down the protein and things start to build up, ammonia levels in his blood can start to climb…and that’s not good.
So now, I carry a letter that states that if we happen to be in the ER, George must receive immediate attention, starting an IV drip of [insert lots of medical numbers and stuff here] immediately, removing him from all protein, and THEN wait for the blood work to come back.
What does this all mean?
If George gets a fever, vomits, seems more tired than normal, it becomes an emergency. An easy to fix emergency, but an emergency none-the-less. They like to drive that point home by having you read all sorts of scary stuff.
Thankfully, we’ve been blessed with a pediatrician that seems to be really willing to work with Mayo and become very active in George’s care. The big question has become, “Do we live close enough to a medical facility?” Ugh. That’s a tough one. We’re still working on the answer.
But, for now, we have a plan, we have a direction and we have some pretty quick results already. That’s enough for me…at least for today.
I’ll worry about sleeping tomorrow. 😉
Oh, and did I mention that we’ve started calving? May the fun begin! Stay tuned for pics.
In honor of calving season starting in just a few short days (hopefully not sooner!), I’m going to share with you the first video I ever “made.” As in edited, etc.
There is no music, voiceover, etc. to the video, just the absolute silence of the moment. Much the same as every birth in the barn…at least, when things go as planned.
I will warn you, this video shows an actual live birth, minus the blood (since it was dark and color didn’t show up well). But for those of you who have never been on a farm, or in a real barn, or seen a calf shake its wet head for the first time…here you are! Enjoy!
Wag'n Tales 