If he were a foal, he wouldn’t have had a chance.

"Zen" gets up close and personal with the bottle baby.

Last spring, as I awaited the birth of my mare’s foal, I borrowed the book “Blessed Are the Foals” by Dr. M. Phyllis Lose. It’s a great read – plenty of need-to-know information coupled with interesting anecdotes from her decades as a veterinarian. Dr. Lose closed the book with a story about a “miracle” birth.

That day, she’d had a full schedule of tending to pregnant and foaling mares, when a cow owner called for help. There was a heifer having trouble calving. Dr. Lose recommended that the person call a farm vet who normally tends to cattle; she, after all, was an equine specialist. But by day’s end, no help had been found for the heifer who still had one small cloven hoof protruding from her back end. Dr. Lose went on the call.

“She must have been trying to deliver for almost 16 hours – if it had been a broodmare, both would have been dead short of an hour or two of onset of labor,” Dr. Lose wrote. She expected that the calf would certainly be dead, and its little protruding foot was cold as ice.

“Quietly, I was dwelling on the fact that, unlike that of the broodmare, the cow’s placenta is unbelievably efficient. In the cow, the placenta delivers a constant and continued blood supply with nutrition through the umbilicus for long, undetermined time limits.”

After realigning the other forelimb that had been folded back, Dr. Lose easily pulled the calf and saw it begin breathing. Before long, it was standing and nursing.

“What a contrast to the delicate equine matron and her foal! … Every interested and involved horse person should be aware of the differences between cows (ruminants) and horses (herbivores), each with its different types of placentas. The placenta of the cow has many ‘button’ attachments that allow nutritional and oxygen support for protracted time periods. The mare’s placenta, however, is no match. Unlike the ruminant, the broodmare’s feeble placental attachment lacks security and quickly peels away, leaving the foal with no support system whether delivered or not. … Any foal would have been lost if subjected to the ordeal experienced by that newborn calf.”

Interesting trivia, no?

Unfortunately, for me last week, it became a lot more than that.

My sister-in-law came in from feeding cattle to report that a heifer was having trouble calving. In this case, there were two little feet sticking out. But – as Dr. Lose reported – time isn’t quite so crucial in dealing with cattle, so we waited a bit to see if she was able to finish the process naturally. She wasn’t.

It took us a good little bit to herd the heifer into the lot, load her in the trailer and drive her to the vet, where there were facilities to better handle her. By this point, she was not willing to play nice. (Insert your own joke about mad-cow disease here.)

Our vet, Dr. McConnell, who handles both horses and cattle, asked if we thought the calf was likely dead. And that’s exactly what I expected. By taking the heifer to the vet, we were intending to save her life, not her baby’s. Dr. McConnell recruited my husband to help pull the calf. And you can imagine Hubby’s surprise when – with the calf partially out – he saw the baby blink.

There hadn’t been any dystocia or malpositioning of the calf. As our vet said, there was just too much calf and not enough cow. When the enormous thing finally was pulled free, its head fell heavily to the concrete floor with a ka-thud. And then, unbelievably, it began taking a few ragged breaths.

Hubby was instructed to rub its ribcage to stimulate breathing. Its tongue was hanging from its mouth, fat and swollen, as it gasped. In one of the universe’s weird little coincidences, Keith Urban’s “C’mon Sweet Thing” was playing from the radio in the vet clinic. I echoed those thoughts, hoping the little miracle baby would pull through.

Dr. McConnell gave him a shot to help the swelling go down, tube-fed him some colostrum and put him on a pallet inside the clinic, where it would be relatively warm. Momma cow, by this time, was in a world of pain. And she tried to take it out on anyone who came near her. Putting a weak baby, who was unable to stand up, in the pen with a charging, ticked-off mother never would have worked. If he lived, we’d have a bottle calf.

Dr. McConnell called the next morning, saying we should come get the two of them. Baby was doing fine, and momma was still mad. A snow storm was headed our way, so the window for safe trailer driving was pretty narrow. We hurried there, and then headed home with baby in the front-seat floorboard and a 50-pound bag of milk replacer in the back seat.

By the time we dropped momma cow off, freezing rain and sleet were falling. There was no way the little calf, in such a precarious position, could be housed in a cold barn. He’d be a garage calf, where we could keep his body temperature regulated. Plus, I wouldn’t have to trek outside to feed him. Bonus.

Can't you just hear the dog's thoughts? "Nooo, I don't *have* an udder. Pleease don't be looking for an udder ..."

He thrived in there, although he did fall in love with the free-standing coat rack, thinking if he head-butted it enough, perhaps it would grow an udder. Oh, and he head-butted one of the support rails off of the garage door. No udder there, either. Three days later, when the snow had melted and outside temperatures were reasonable again, he got evicted, moving into a horse stall in the barn. (Although, yes, he does come back in at night if it’s too cold!)

The young horses, who have been around cattle before, look at him askance – as if cows are OK out in the pasture, but not in their barn. They’ll get over it. And the dogs, actually, are a bit afraid of the calf. That’s a good thing. I was afraid they’d look at him and think “Mmmm, veal!”

In all, the little guy has fit in pretty well around here. Except, as you can tell, he doesn’t have a name. I’m kind of thinking about “Maserati.” I’ve always wanted to have one of those in the garage…

Happy riding!
Holly Clanahan
Editor, America’s Horse magazine

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