Tagging Time

Spring has sprung and little black calves are popping up on the farm.

For years we calved in the cold months of January and February.  Calving season meant snow, cold, freezing mud, and occasionally frostbite.  This resulted in calves being carried through the snow to the barn, scrubbed free of mud, fed warm bottles of electrolytes, and sometimes even warmed in the utility room.  It didn't always happen this way but as we got older it seemed like it did.  Gradually we moved the calving time to March and April.  It certainly seemed sensible to me.  It didn't solve all the problems but at least you had a shot at better weather.

So now we've got new babies arriving.

With each new arrival Hubby and Son hurry to the field to record the important information.  Which mama, sex of baby, date of birth, and approximate weight.  Then they are tagged with a white tag with their number written on it. The tag is important because it helps to identify the calf (black Angus calves all look alike!) and also helps them keep up with their health information. This tag is punched through their ear, much like getting your ears pierced.  Not terribly painful but likely to get a bleat of surprise from the baby.  That bleat is the cause of lots of trouble. 

One of the best characteristics of our beloved Angus cattle is their mothering instinct.  They are great mamas.  That also means that when that baby is new they are super protective.  They don't like anyone or anything bothering their baby!  Fortunately, like most good mothers, as time goes by they will stand back and let their youngsters learn on their own.  However, at first, it is wise to keep one eye on mama.

The dilemma is how to tag the calf without mama coming unglued.

Hubby and Son have developed an amazing "tag" team approach.  They approach the new arrival in the sturdy Polaris ranger, which is our modern equivalent to a cutting horse.  Easing up to the baby, Son jumps out and grabs the baby, tagging tool in hand. while Hubby wheels the ranger around between the cow and the struggling calf.  Turning, wheeling, twisting, he continues to head the cow off while Son quickly finishes his task and jumps back in the ranger. 

This worked pretty well until the rains turned the fields into swamps of mud. This time with every pivoting turn and jumping start the wheels of the ranger sprayed a swath of gooey mud.  Hubby, intent on his task of keeping the cow blocked off, came to a stop upon hearing a muffled shout.  Turning back, expecting to find Son finished and ready to leap into the ranger, he was surprised to see two mud covered objects rolling on the ground. Son is frantically shouting, "Stop!  Stop!"  His efforts had covered both Son and calf in a layer of slick mud.  The tagging process had now turned into a "greased" calf wrestling match.  Son jumped for the ranger and announced that a new approach was needed.

The next idea was that they would take a feed sack and Hubby would wave the sack from the ranger and distract the cow into attacking the sack.  While she was occupied chasing the sack and ranger, Son would grab the calf.  This worked fairly well, with only a few close calls resulting in frantic leaps and wild yells when mama realized that the sack wasn't the one after her baby.

So the day came when Son decided he needed to tag a new calf and Hubby wasn't available.  He decided to use the feed sack distraction.  He would wave the sack and get the cow away from the calf, then when she was good and focused (mad) he would toss the sack, run to the calf, tag it and jump in the ranger.  The plan worked up to a point.  The cow was distracted, the sack thrown, cow attacked sack, Son grabbed calf, calf bleats, Son tags.  So far so good.  Son releases the bleating calf and runs for the ranger, arriving there about the same time as the cow.  She is not pleased.  Son slides in the passenger side and the cow follows.  He waves his arm.  She tosses her head and keeps coming.  He flaps his hat and she lowers her head and charges another few feet.  Now she has her head in the ranger and fire in her eye.

"OK Cow!!"  he yells, "If you want to drive, have at it!!"  With that he slid off the other side of the seat and into the ever present mud.  Nodding in satisfaction, that another human has been properly put in his place, the cow backs up and ambles off.

Scraping the mud from his jeans, Son slides back into the ranger seat, all the while muttering what about what cuts of steak he'd like to see that cow in.   

And we're having more calves every day.  Life sure is fun on the farm.