The Day Before

Amy and me - my very first bottle calf heifer!

Amy's waiting for her fifth calf ...

 It's Saturday morning. I am on 10 o'clock heifer check. I pull on long johns, extra layers, flannel shirt, silk scarf. An old felt hat, a gift from my sister many years ago. Grab the blanket from the stair rail in the porch: "It looks like rain," the Good Rancher had said as he went to bring in his horses.

I drive out, through the horse pasture, through the little gate into what he calls the Storm Field. It's a haven for calvy heifers and pet cows on days of inclement weather, such as this one.

It's mizzling and extremely windy. Even the crocuses are shuttered against the onslaught.

I circle the perimeter slowly, trying not to disturb these heavily pregnant mums.

Each is settled in her chosen spot.

They are all quiet.

At rest.

Waiting.

Tomorrow's the official day that new life will start to be seen, the GR says. It's the official heifer calving launch.

But it's the day before. All is quiet in this garden. All are at rest.

I back the side-by-side into an unobtrusive spot and let my mind drift back some 2,000 years ago to that "day before" where there was little to no activity on the streets of Jerusalem in honour of the Sabbath. 

Rest day.

Waiting.

Tomorrow - little do they know - will be different from any other day anyone has ever known. A massive stone will be rolled from a brand new tomb. The broken body, placed in it so tenderly by friends just days before, will not be found in the cave. 

Angels will attest.

The ladies will come. Peter and John will come. Friends walking to Emmaus in bewilderment and sorrow will speak to and break bread with Him. 

Death will have been defeated.

Nothing will ever be the same.

But that's tomorrow.

Today the sleet spits in my face.

The thunder rumbles.

We rest.

And we wait.

First Flight

 

The day had to come, of course. Big Bird had been stretching, perching on the graceful twigs artfully extending out past the nest, flexing his back and feet and neck, fluttering and then flapping his wings. He had caught the air under his wings and then done an exhilarating lift-off straight up above the nest, where he beat his wings and remained triumphantly airborne for several fraught seconds.

This afternoon didn't seem any different from the other sleepy afternoons at the nest. I did my regular long-distance check to make sure there were two eaglets and one parent at the nest. Then I steered the side-by-side across the bumpy terrain until I came within 100 yards of the nest.

However, when I stopped, there was only Little Bird in the nest. Their parent and Big Bird had vanished.

Suddenly I heard the sound of two pairs of wings cleaving the air overhead. The parent eagles sailed silently above the copse of trees and disappeared on the other side.

I looked up into the trees and saw a quivering little mass clinging to a branch high above the nest, or so it seemed to me.

All his feathers trembling, he started to crawl up the branch.

And there he clung for long minutes, paralyzed with fear.

Until.

Until this:

They stayed thus for 38 minutes. The whole time she was almost whispering to him. She never raised her voice, not even once. He fixed his eyes on her and visibly gained strength and confidence. I felt like this was holy ground.

Then, as suddenly as she had arrived, she vanished. He was bereft.

But she let him know she wasn't far away!

Armed with this security and with the instructions she had relayed to him as they perched there together, he finally felt emboldened to make his move:

Please excuse the disjointed aspects of this first flight video. I was holding the camera and my breath and stanching tears at the same time! This nanosecond clip just serves to show the heights to which our brave Big Bird soared ...

I was wondering where he would land, whether he would crash into the branches, what he would do next. I happened to point up toward the nest, curious to see how Little Bird was faring. I should have known that the person Big Bird would want to tell his adventure to was his nest mate!

Don't you wonder what Mama Bird said in those quiet moments to her fledgling? Whatever it was, the words must have been filled with wisdom, practical instruction and encouragement. She knew she couldn't fly for him, but she let it be known that she wasn't very far away. Such love!

It took me back to 1988. I was going through a very rough time, about to launch myself out of the nest I had been hiding in. One of the hardest parts was telling my parents. 

My Dad silently gazed at me for long moments and then he came to me and wrapped his arms around me and enveloped me in a hug I can feel to this day.

He whispered one sentence: " 'Underneath are the everlasting arms.' "

And he was right.

What about you? Think back: did someone precious to you say words that would launch you into the next step of your life? How grateful we can be for those who love us enough to speak truth into our lives, exactly when we need it!

And oh, Big Bird, we are so proud of you! 

Writing in the Dark of the Year: "I Stand on All Fours, My Fur ..."

 On this fourth week, the writing prompt that hit me between the eyes was this:

"I stand on all fours, my fur ..."

I couldn't actually read this piece - or any piece, for that matter - aloud this week. But here's what I wrote:

I stand on all fours, my fur rising ever so slightly from my suddenly unfamiliar body. (Is it my body that is unfamiliar, or is it everything else?)

Last Tuesday night I went to bed, stretched out as usual on the blanket on the floor behind my Friend's bed. She turned out the light, then she said, like she says every night, "Sleep time, SLEEP time, my little Earl Grey. Sleep time, my Faithful Friend. See you in the MORning!" 

But the morning never came. The dark night got blacker and blacker. The Good Rancher got up and made his breakfast and left. My Friend got up and called to me.

I didn't know where she was. 

I didn't know where I was.

I bumped into a hard edge and did not know how to get around it so I stopped. I needed water, I needed to go outside, I needed to have my Friend say, "Good MORning, my little Earl Grey!"

She came back to find me. I almost didn't hear her footsteps. I was so scared that my entire body was shaking. I could hardly breathe.

"Come on, my dog! What's going on?" I looked at where I thought her voice was coming from. She cried my name like she never had before - "GRAAAAAAYYY!" 

She pushed me with her legs and put her hand on my head. She got me to where I could feel cool air on my face. So many smells. Birds chirping. Cats meowing. Musket yapping from the porch. I was so confused that I just froze.

I put out my foot, but there was nothing there. Suddenly I felt her next to me. Her hands on my shoulders. "Step!" she screamed, "Step! Step! Step! Step!"

I didn't know what to do. She had never raised her voice at me before. Except that time when she saw me with a baby barn kitten in my mouth. Was she angry with me, like then?

I heard tapping right below me. "Step," she whispered. I could feel her breath on my face. Salt water dripping onto my nose. I leaned toward her and my foot dropped down to reach a spot just below me. "Step," she said again and that same tapping below me. I followed her breath.

And then I felt the cold bristles of grass beneath me. "Go, on, Earl Grey," she said. I inhaled the scent of previous outside visits, both mine and the other dogs'. Some stronger than others.  I took a few steps into this blackness. I had to pee, but I was too scared to lift my leg. 

She called to me and I heard her truck running. Maybe we were going for a ride? But I could not find her or the truck. Suddenly she was in front of meIbumpedintoherlegs. The Good Rancher was there and he picked me up and put me in the truck. She was already sitting right next to me.

The movement, the noise, the smells. I could hear big trucks coming toward me and I pressed myself low on the seat because I couldn't see them and I was scared they were going to run over me.

We stopped at the place where the people give me treats, and the girl came out to help my Friend get me out of the truck. They put a noose around my neck and started to pull me, but I did not know where I was going so I sat down.

And I heard my Friend's voice. "My Faithful Friend," she said. "Come with me, Earl Grey."

They got me into a small room. I tried to walk around but I kept bumpingbumping into a huge box in the middle of the room. I put my head on my Friend's lap and everything was quiet. 

But not for long. Two other people came into the room and they made my Friend put a muzzle on me. Then they poked me in my foot, and they put something cold near my heart, and I felt whooshing air near my eyes. I started to pant.

My Friend and that girl got me back into the truck. The truck started and then there was a howling sound, like the coyotes on the hills at home every night. I tried to reach for her hand, which was always there when I put my head on the console, but I fell off the seat.

The howling stopped. So did the truck. The door next to me opened. She helped me get back up onto the seat.

We got home. I got onto the floor of the truck but when she tried to get me down I couldn't move. I could only shake and pant. 

She went away and came back and there was somewhere hard to put my foot. It was covered with something soft that smelled like her jacket. "Step," she said quietly. "Step." 

And I was on the blessed ground again.

This last week has been long. Cold weather. Accidents in the living room. I can't find my food until I am standing in the bowl. I spill the water. My head hurts all the time. I sleep a lot. The dogs avoid me, but those kittens stay close to me now. 

Nothing is the same. 

Except for one thing.

A long time ago she went away for a night, and when she came back the next afternoon, she smelled of blood and bandages and medicine and sadness. We could not jump up on her, and she did not bend down to give us our milk time, milk time. Something was wrong. 

She lay on the couch and I lay on the floor next to her. When she got up she went to the small room with the loud rushing of water. I felt I needed to go look after her. So I waited for her outside the door. 

And from that day on, whenever she goes to the small room with the loud rushing of water I always lie down, blocking the door, waiting for her, protecting her from the unseen enemy. Now everything is unseen, everything is the enemy.

Still. I still know when she is in that place, and I have still been able to find the door. And I would still protect her with my whole pitiful being.

She opens the door. I stand on all fours, my fur turning into shield and breastplate and helmet, and my useless eyes glowing jade green. I stand on guard for her.

And I hear her say the words she always says as she bends to stroke my back and head:

"Grey? Are you waiting for me, Grey? Oh Grey, you ALWAYS wait for me. THANK you for waiting for me, Earl Grey. Thank you for being my Faithful Friend. Do you love me, Grey? I think you LOVE me!! From the FIRST time you saw me, you loved me, and you wanted to BE my friend. And now, you are my FAITHful Friend, Earl Grey, and now, you are MY dog."

Everything has changed, but nothing has changed. I would give my life for her. 

I hope she can see that.

It's Raining, It's Pouring!

I spent Wednesday away from the ranch; when I left, the sky was overcast but there was not so much as a spatter of raindrops.

I checked in by phone periodically. Any rain?

No. 

What about now?

No. 

And then at 11:34 I received this picture from DJ, along with the words "Finally getting some rain!"

As my friend and I went about our tasks in Calgary we were almost blown over by some of the wind gusts. We heard of the tornado warnings and thought about the Good Rancher, who was making his way back from Lethbridge.

Finally, at about 8 pm, I was home. The first thing I did was check the rain gauge:

Half an inch! 

I was so excited. The air smelled clean. As I hauled groceries into the house the three cats clawed at the door, wanting to get into the brisk outdoors. Olivia decided that discretion was the better part of valour in this unknown weather pattern. 

Jack and Charlie, however, swooped out and hurtled around the corner, to be brought up short by the overflowing rainwater tank - I must confess that I was brought up short by it too. How does a mere half an inch fill a bone-dry water trough like that?!

When the excitement subsided, we all went back indoors. The GR joined us shortly thereafter; as he started to eat his belated dinner, he heard the first pattering on the roof.  Food was forgotten as he jumped up and peered out of the window.

That half inch earlier was merely a teaser. The rain had arrived in earnest now!

All through that evening and into the night it tapped out its persistent percussion on the tin roof drum above our heads.

I was getting ready to settle The Nine in for the night, and I didn't see the GR at one of his regular evening dozing spots in the living room. But as I went down the hall the light showed me a glimpse of that man lying relaxed for the first time in many months.

"I'm just listening to the beautiful music," he murmured.

I thought about the time I took him to a performance of Handel's Messiah by the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus. I never sensed in him the depth of awe and joy I experience when I hear the magnificent old masterpiece. 

But this night, I finally got it. 

This was the GR's Hallelujah Chorus.

Finally the household occupants were all tucked in for the night. I filled the electric kettle and flicked on the switch. As the water started to shift and heat in preparation for my hot water bottle, I was propelled toward the front door. Opening it, I stepped onto the top step and felt the immediate impact of water and wind.

And in it I heard the still, small voice, a whisper, a caress in my ear:

This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. (Matthew 5:45, the Message) 

I stayed there for long moments trying to take it all in - the wind weaving through the rain, the scorched grass tentatively stretching its blades upward again, the certain knowledge that God loves us all.

And finally, I could breathe. 

Listen to the rain with me! 

I went inside to enjoy the deepest sleep I have had in a long time.

But the next morning I was awakened by a shout: "Check out the rain gauge!"

(This includes the half inch from the previous day's afternoon showers.) 

The wonder of it all!

The Girl with the Vaseline Glass Eyes

The Good Rancher is usually very deliberate in purchasing for his operation. So when he bought a large new bag of milk replacer, I raised my eyebrows.

"You just finished weaning Silver and Dominion and Mighty Mouse and Dougie! What's this about?" 

"It's for the barn cats," he explained. And you never know when you might need milk replacer... "

So, knowing how the GR and God are in cahoots many times, it came as no real surprise to me when I got this message the following Tuesday:

"How you doing ? Hope well. I don't know if you are interested in this, but we have a calf that was born blind last week. It is sadly enough no good for us and I'd like to give it away. I am not sure if you can do anything with it, but if you want to give it a try you can."

Remember Mabel and her triplets, Wynken, Blynken and Nod? Remember the kind hearts of their first caregivers, Elize and Theo? 

Elize was the one who wrote me. In further chatting, she had been bottle feeding this week-old little mite for a week — despite the fact that they run an extremely busy dairy operation!  

But it was Elize with the tender heart who could not bear the thought of disposing of this sweet little calf without giving her a fighting chance. 

I had met this woman only once, but I love her. I saw her pragmatism and compassion woven together and also manifesting in her daughters.

I see them in an uphill battle with formidable odds in their sector of the Ag industry, but they don't give up.

Of course she would not give up on this baby! 

I told her how the GR had just finished weaning for the year, but that I would ask him.

(You already know what the answer would be, don't you?) 

So on the Wednesday evening, after all the work of the day was done, we drove the almost two hours to the dairy farm. We were greeted by Elize and her daughter Aimee, and together we went to see the baby calf. 

It turned out this baby had worked her way into Aimee's heart too.

I had not expected to see eyes like this little calf had. Aimee commented, "I bet if you put her under a black light, her eyes would glow!" 

Each pupil — if pupils there even were — was completely covered by an eerily glowing disc, almost like a cataract. 

They reminded me of Vaseline glass, otherworldly beautiful. 

Yet they couldn't see a thing.

This baby was going to have to depend on her ears and her nose and her intelligence if she had a hope of making it. 

I had planned on calling the calf "October" for the month in which she had been born. Now, after meeting Aimee and the calf, I asked her if she thought Liesl would be a good name.

Liesl. Because of The Sound of Music. 

Because of "I'll take care of you." 

Aimee thought it was a good name, and so it was settled. The GR loaded up Liesl into the calf warmer strapped into the truck box and off we set, back through the dark night but with a slight detour for a DQ dipped cone. 

We went straight to the shop. You know this shop by now. The GR got Ironside Contracting Inc. to renovate Ken Keibel's old shop; and when they were done we had an addition big enough to house two tractors attached to feeding equipment. 

We also had enough room, it seemed, to house a little calf named Angel, born in February, the first in a series of Shop Calves. 

The next winter there was Gabriel, born December 23 ... 

Then Jean and Grace and Brownie ... 

Then Blind Bartimaeus ... 

The GR has said on occasion, rolling his eyes, "Why don't we just take the tractors out so the calves will have more room?!"

The GR carried Liesl into the shop and set her down. I stood close to her and held her lightly while he quickly assembled pallets into a little pen, and got her situated. 

She was shaking and panting a little. I gave her her milk, which she gulped down; right then the shop heater clattered loudly to life, and Liesl started gasping and shuddering, throwing her head from side to side. 

One of the things I was taught in therapy was tapping to try to still my anxiety. I used it on my dog Musket after he was temporarily blinded as a result of a hit-and-run accident. It would always stop him from shaking. 

Prince Harry has been a vocal proponent of it. And if it works for Haz, surely it might work for Liesl, I thought. 

I whispered "Shhhh," over and over, and tapped slowly, rhythmically, on her right shoulder and her brisket. And in a few minutes she calmed down. 

The GR was watching all of this and then he said, "Call them and see if they have any calves for sale. This one needs a friend if she's going to make it." 

The next morning Liesl started to take tentative steps around her new home. Don and Ivy came over to check her out and gave me some pointers, along with the loan of a halter.

My heart was full when she even managed a little skip! 

Over the next few days she calmed down and started to relax in her  new freedom. The GR made a bigger, more open pen with gates at both ends. She always gravitated toward the white door at the end of the shop. If it looked like she was about to hit her head anywhere I would call out, "Oh, oh, oh!" and she would stop immediately. 

And then Gretyl and Marta (the younger sisters of Liesl, natch) came home on Sunday evening. The Right Hand and the GifT were over at the shop when we arrived back. "I have a surprise!" the GR called out to the RH. "Actually, two surprises. Can you give me a hand?!" 

The next day Liesl was stressed and I was distressed as these two much stronger little heifers galloped around her, adding to her disoriented confusion. 

Two days in she was more calm. Now the three calves nuzzle each other when they are resting and squabble for rights to the first bottle at each feeding. Liesl had been left out, bewildered, as the two younger ones ripped from one end of the shop to the other... but this morning I do believe she is starting to hold her own! 

Liesl has other troubles besides her eyes, I fear. One of her front legs is a bit off kilter. Her stomach is not strong. She is the smallest of the three, and she was born over a week earlier. 

But she's still with us! She loves her bottle and reaches her neck toward me, telling me it's time for a scratch along her jawline. She comes toward the sound of my voice. 

And every now and then, I think she sees a shadow — something — out of her left eye. 

Her beautiful eyes. 

Maybe it's going to be okay.

Dutch Lullaby

 I heard a song quite some years ago, performed by Carly Simon and her sister Lucy. "Wynken, Blynken and Nod" is a simple, catchy ditty harkening back to a more innocent time where little people could sail off to the land of dreams in a wooden shoe.

On Tuesday night the Good Rancher was checking out cow-calf pairs on Kijiji (because when caring for cattle sunup to sundown is not enough, one can always browse the cattle for sale on Kijiji, the updated version of the Eatons and Sears wish books...). He came across this listing; his exclamation drew me over:

Oh my. It couldn't hurt, could it, just to find out why they were selling? 

"We are a dairy farm and it doesn't fit in our operation. The calves are walking every where and are trying to suck our dry cows..." 

Those poor babies. 

We looked at each other. 

A few more messages were exchanged. Then Wednesday morning: "See if we can pick them up this afternoon," the GR said.

 "We are away today, but are home tomorrow" 

Thursday morning, as he was about to leave for barn chores in the newly-crowned Palace, the GR glanced back at me and said, "See if they are still available and if we could get there after 1 pm."

As we drove down the road we spotted the snow caps of the Rockies on the horizon. It was a beautiful, clear day. "What should we call them?" I mused. "Wynken, Blynken and Nod keeps coming to my head." I played him the Doobie Brothers version and the Simon Sisters version, but he couldn't really make out the words or the tune with all the air rushing around us from the open windows... 

We arrived at the dairy farm shortly after 2 pm, and Elize and Theo were there in the yard to meet us. Right away they took us to see their daughters' 4H steers, which had been shown the previous day." This is what the calves will grow up to look like!"

Then they showed us their heifers, who were clearly loved because they came up to us for head scratches and pats. "Our girls spend a lot of time with them," Theo commented wryly. 

After that we got to see the baby pail bunters, who will be used for 4H next year; from there it was on to the milking barns. 

This family farm doesn't use the high-tech, hands-off approach. Theo and his hired hands milk for two hours starting at 5 a.m., and again at 4 p.m. Their cows are healthy and well treated. 

We came across one noble red cow in her own large pen. 

"Remember the one red heifer you saw in the middle of all the blues?" asked Elize. "She is our one and only replacement heifer for this old red cow of ours... She has been a fantastic cow, and will get to live out her days here. She's our friend."

We went one barn over and were greeted by a frisky little "blue" calf. I cannot be sure why, but some black and white or grey speckledy cattle are called blue. They are invariably beautiful. 

"Here's the mum. She's a little distressed this afternoon. She knows something's up," commented Theo, patting her gently. "And now, here are the triplets!" 

The first one we had met came trotting back into his mother's huge pen to see what was going on. The littlest one lay close to her mummy. The third had snuck into the neighbour's pen and was snoozing.

"The two bigger ones are the bull calves and the little one is the girl, most likely a freemartin as I mentioned to you while we were discussing them." He got his cow over to the side of the pen and knelt in front of her to take off her collar and to say goodbye. "She's one of our best cows..." His voice trailed off. 

I was heartbroken for this man. I turned to Elize, standing next to me. "Why doesn't he just sell the calves and keep the cow?" 

She looked back at me, pain in her face too, and slowly she explained. 

"This is the second set of triplets we have had in the whole time we have had our operation. They are very special to us. They are all healthy. She loves all three of them and they all love each other. How could we possibly separate them? If we kept them here, the boys would end up in a feed lot. The girl would be no good to us. The cow would have no one. We want them to be together for as long as possible."

Immediately my mind went to that Bible story of old, of wise King Solomon who had to adjudicate in the case of the two mothers, one of whose baby had died. You know the story. The two devastated women stood in front of him, each claiming that the live baby was hers. 

"Give me my sword," said Solomon. "We will cut this live baby in half and each of you will get half."

One immediately agreed to the pronouncement as being fair and equitable. The other, sobbing, asked the king to reconsider and please give the baby to her rival. 

The king had his answer. 

Theo and Elize, in their own way, were doing the same thing as that mother: for love of their cow and her happiness, they were willing to give her up.

My eyes filled with tears and Elize was blinking hard.

Theo went to the office and brought back a piece of paper, carefully protected in a clear plastic sleeve. "Here are her papers," he said. "You had better have them now."

And suddenly we were the owners of a purebred Holstein cow and her three Belgian blue babies! Wynken and Blynken would be the boys' names and Nod the sweet little girl's. 

We loaded them into the GR's stock trailer, mum in the first compartment and three protesting babies into the middle compartment. One last pause to hand Elize a box of doughnuts we had picked up for them from Bloke's Bakery in Stettler - after all, dairy farmers should have the joy of tasting a cream john, shouldn't they?! - and we were on the road home.

As the GR drove, I started talking about a name for the mum. My connection to Holland, home of the dairy farmers, is that my Aunt Mabel married Henk and cares for him and their two Canadian-Dutch children and grandchildren with every fibre of her being.

"I think her name is Mabel," I suggested to the GR.

"Oh man," he replied with a grin. Henk is one of his favourite people anywhere.

"I wish that Wynken, Blynken and Nod could be connected to Holland in some way too. Maybe I should find better names," I fretted. I googled the names to discover their origin and picked Wikipedia as my source for the answer:

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod is a popular poem for children written by American writer and poet Eugene Field and published on March 9, 1889. The original title was "Dutch Lullaby". The poem is a fantasy bed-time story about three children sailing and fishing among the stars from a boat which is a wooden shoe. The names suggest a sleepy child's blinking eyes and nodding head. The spelling of the names, and the "wooden shoe," suggest Dutch language and names, as hinted in the original title

"I guess your first instincts for their names were right!" the GR laughed. 

And look at the name of the person who created a statue in their honour! " I shrieked.

(Wynken, Blynken and Nod by Mabel Landrum Torrey, 1918, formerly a fountain in Washington Park, Denver)

He crinkled his eyes at me. "I guess she's Mabel then!"

When we got home we ran the babies out, and Mabel followed, a bit shell-shocked by the ride, no doubt. The GR got W,B&N into the Palace with their new royal playmates, and led Mabel over to where there was hay and fresh water.

Then it was supper time at the Palace. We wondered how our four newest residents would do. The GR got all the babies sorted into their normal dining rooms, and put the three newbies into a vacant one. First he sent up good old Horns, mother of Princess Anne and adoptive mother of Phil. I closed the gate behind her.

In the pen next to them stood the three babies, unsure of themselves and their new surroundings.

"Here comes Mabel!" And up walked this beautiful, stately mother, straight into the middle of her little tribe.

She indulged herself with just one mouthful of dairy ration; and when her babies had still not moved, gave them a sharp, one-word command. 

They hustled then! 

The three of them crowded to one side, but with a little hip checking she got Nod out of the way of her big brothers. 

Two particularly sweet moments occurred: the first was a brief exchange between Horns and Mabel, a sort of "You're not alone in this" look.

 The second was when Nod went over to her mummy's head after she had finished eating.

Mabel tucked her girl under her chin and they stood there, quietly, while the boys scampered around them. 

Later that night, before we went to bed, we went to check on the Palace. All the residents were getting along well together. Mabel, Horns and Goldie were nearby, lowing softly at their babies. W,B&N were together.

This morning, look who was waiting to greet Mabel for breakfast! 

In a few days, when everyone is homed in and fully comfortable, mothers and babies will all be taken out to enjoy fresh, green grass. 

And - just like Elize and Theo hoped - Mabel, along with her triplets Wynken, Blynken and Nod, will be together for as long as they possibly can. 

Welcome to your new home!