Cow love

My cows were as well planned as my children.

Our eldest son is lovingly referred to as our Byron Bay tent child so you get the picture.

One day I made a phone call and decided to change careers. Two weeks later I made another phone call and brought six calves.

The day before I started the new career I drove north for two and a half hours and picked up calves. Drove south for two and a half hours and nearly didn't get to pick up the children.

I brought bottles and calf formula.

The next day I smiled sweetly at my very tolerant husband, walked out the door and left him to hand feed our new babies.

Crazy George learning to drink from a bucket. 

Gemma giving a cow kiss 

Did I mention it was winter?

Did I mention it snowed?

Did I mention he didn't like me very much for a while?

The husband being the trooper he is did get over it and managed to hand raise these little guys. The theory being that seeing as we don't have a clue of how to be a farmers, lets start at the beginning and see how it goes.

The chook pen was the cool place to hang

As wee things they were incredibly endearing. There was obviously a fair degree of imprinting on us, particularly with the husband who did the majority of the feeding. Names were inevitable. We were advised against this of course due to the fact that one day we intended to eat them. There was Pippin (named for the obvious Lord of the Rings connection) Fergus (kind of Irish thing going on), Gemma (named after the girl who was in prep with the ginger), Crazy George (cause he was just a tad eccentric), Stuart (nice cow named after a nice guy I worked with) and Jackie Moon (Semi Pro change my husbands life).

It was not all smooth sailing. We plodded along with our twice daily feeding of cow formula and also daily rations of "cow crack" (calf muesli which is a delectable cow treat with molasses) and hay. We discovered that calves are susceptible to "scours" and we did lose Jackie Moon due to this. He had been unwell from the beginning and despite our careful nursing he eventually passed away. We lost one other calf to calcium deficiency which can occur at certain times of the year.

We researched the internet for solutions, management strategies. We cut hay at Fortylegs Farm and developed a relationship with our "hay guy" that included lots of advice regarding the basics of cow rearing. Other friends who had "cow" experience showed us how to turn a bull into a steer, manage pasture and how to maintain our animals. We learned the importance of mineral licks and despite our efforts to be completely organic we realised that worming was a necessity for animal welfare.

The cows were eventually moved from our rental to Fortylegs where they now live. They escaped a few times till we realised the value of a good electric fence. Fortunately they are easily herded by a bright bucket and a sniff of "cow crack" so we were able to get them back. We added to our herd an additional four girls brought from the "hay guy". Real cows. Angus cows. They all freely roam in our large pastures and have a pretty good life.

The cows we hand reared still come to us to cow pats. It is lovely to have them come to us whenever we arrive at the farm. The "real cow"s are somewhat timid of us and whilst they will have a sniff of the hand on occasion there is little cow love.

Raising the cows by hand was certainly an amazing experience and one that I might repeat when the husband finally releases me from my animal acquisition ban.