Farm Fresh Blog

     I named the calf "Norman." Not exactly original, but I doubt he cares. Norman passed away last night. Other Half fed him around 7 pm and tucked him in. I came home from work at midnight to find him still warm, but gone. Norman was premature. His teeth were not fully developed but other than that, he looked like a full term calf.

     Other Half had planned to put him down yesterday afternoon because he wasn't making a marked improvement but after some more research on premature calves we decided to give him one more chance. The mortality rate is high, but some do pull out.

     So we continued to try. Unfortunately, I opened the bedroom door last night to find him motionless. Ranger rushed in and attempted a canine version of CPR.

   It was touching. The little blue dog was quite upset. I gave him all the time he wanted. He guarded Norman's body from the other dogs while I pulled Norman's pallet into the muck room. I left the calf there while Ranger valiantly continued to revive the little guy. It was sad, poignant - Hollywood's version of what a dog is, and most aren't. And yet, there it was in front of me.

     Briar was in the back yard and so she came into the muck room to check out Norman's body.  Ranger threatened her but she was politely persistent. I don't think Briar has ever seen Death claim someone, so I called Ranger away to let her carefully explore Norman's body. Then I went to phone Other Half.

     I was okay. Despite our best efforts, I knew saving Norman was a longshot. It is what it is. Nature can be cruel. While I chatted with Other Half, I was okay - until I walked back into the muck room and saw Briar. Then I burst into tears.

     Briar, who had never seen Norman alive, was lying beside his still body with her chin on her paws. Her expression was the saddest I've ever seen. Briar understood Norman was dead. She settled down beside him, and waited, her expressive eyebrows shifting but her head never moving from her paws. And then I cried.  Not for Norman, but for the sweet nature of a good dog. Briar and Ranger have a level of empathy not seen in the rest of the pack. 

Typical narcissist, my beloved Lily bounced around, "Can we play fetch now?"

Dillon, who had been frightened of Norman when he was alive, was not frightened, but now curious of the dead Norman. Trace was still slightly growly. To them, Norman was a Thing, never a Someone. But Ranger and Briar see suffering and death for what it is, and they respond with an uncanny sympathy. It touches me.

Sadly, Norman joins the ranks of my other failed attempts to save the longshots. For most of my life, God has sent helpless animals my way. I have killed more baby birds than I care to remember. At one point I recall upon finding yet another helpless bird, throwing my hands to Heaven and shouting,

"Why do you INSIST upon sending me these things?!! You KNOW that I can't keep them alive!"

(I have a long history of shouting at God. It gets me nowhere by the way.)

My baby bird dilemma has been solved by the wildlife rehab people. Now I can whisk a little bird up, drive an hour, and gratefully hand it and some money over to someone far more qualified than me. It may still die, but at least I feel I've done all I can do.

And such is the same with Norman. Other ranchers and the vet wouldn't have spent much energy or money on Norman, and yet for some reason, like Ranger and Briar, we felt 'something' and were compelled to try.

I am still tempted to throw up my hands and shout at God, "Why do you keep sending me hopeless cases? My faith does not grow each time I try and lose them anyway!"

It is tempting to carry them to the vet and let him deal with it, (translated: I don't have to watch them die and feel responsible for their death) but as Other Half has pointed out, "He'll do the same thing we're doing, and besides, he doesn't think you should even try." (Our vet went to high school with Other Half and doesn't sugarcoat things for us.)

But like Ranger, I have to try. And when the calf dies, like Briar, all I can do is mourn another failed attempt to cheat Death.