Well... You know how it goes. You get excited about something, pretend that you've thought through it and know what you are doing, jump in with both feet, and realize that the water isn't quite what you thought it would be?
The first night, I was a little startled at how much milk replacer I was going to have to mix up twice a day. My big pot wasn't big enough to make it all in one batch.
Chris and I went out to feed the calves, and two of them stormed us as soon as we got in the pen. They sucked their bottles down, then we fed the two that weren't quite so bold, all the while having to fight off the ones that were already fed.
If we had our stable set up like our neighbor had, with individual pens, feeding the calves would have been a little easier, but as it was, I knew I would need some help the next morning with Chris at work, so I called Mom and suckered her into helping.
Looking back, the fact that two of the calves weren't as eager for their bottles as the others should have been a warning sign. When my mom showed the next morning up, we managed to get the eager beavers fed then led them out to an outer pen so that we would be unmolested as we fed the other two. Mom took on the tan calf with sticker residue on it's bum, and I took on the cute, little spotted calf. Sticker-Butt half-heartedly sucked at Mom's bottle, while Spotty flat-out refused mine. It took a good while for Mom to coax Sticker-Butt to drink his bottle, administering half of it while sitting in the stinky hay with him. I wasn't having as much luck. Every once in a while, I would get my thumb in Spotty's mouth, and when he started to suck, would slip the nipple into his mouth, but invariably, he would jerk his head away, and most of the milk that he squeezed out would dribble to the ground.
Finally, I had to give up. With a sick feeling in my stomach, we headed back to the house. The chance of an animal surviving when it doesn't want to eat is slim.
To make a long story short, we tried drenching the calves (giving a dose of high-vitamin supplement), but they went downhill pretty quickly, and by Saturday morning, Sticker-Butt and Spotty were dead.
Chris took the tractor out to dig a hole to bury the calves, and managed to get the front wheels stuck in the hole he dug for them. It would have been really funny if it wasn't for the sad circumstance that led to the mishap.
In a way, I was mentally prepared for the possibility of losing a calf. Last year, our neighbors got some bottle claves and ended up losing one or two. But losing two out of four was hard.
Then, Saturday night, one of the remaining two started showing signs of sickness. Sunday morning, it was looking weaker and only managed to drink 1/3 of its bottle. I ran to Tractor Supply and bought some antibiotics. We tried giving him some more milk that afternoon, but he only drank a little. I told our woes to a few people, and they promised to pray.
I walked out to the stable Sunday night with a sense of dread. I didn't know what I'd do if he wouldn't eat. I couldn't handle losing a third calf. Chris and I were met at the gate by both calves, waiting anxiously for their evening meal. We were thankful and very much relieved.
Mom came over again this morning to help (Thanks, Mom!),
and, in spite of the blustery, cold night, both calves were doing well.
As with anything that happens in life, I at least have to squeeze a little lemonade out of the lemons and be thankful for the lessons we've learned so far.
1. Be sure you know where your calves are coming from. We were under the impression that the man we bought the calves from got them directly from a dairy farmer, and that the calves had gotten a good start on actual colostrum and milk. Turns out, the guy bought the calves from an 'Amish' auction, so he really had no idea what start the calves had. (The residue on Sticker-Butt was a tell-tale sign of being an auction animal.) Also, the fact that the calves had been through an auction means that they were subjected to a whole lot more stress than we realized.
2. There is no substitute for mama's milk. I really can't wait to have a good dairy heifer so that any calves we have or get can get the benefit of the real, unprocessed thing. It is such a crazy thing to think about... The dairy farmer doesn't care to have bull calves around, as they cut into his profits, so he sells them to suckers like us who have to buy an expensive bag of 'milk-replacer' which (if it is a good brand) is made out of ... milk. (I noticed that some brands have soy in the mix.)
3. I'll never be done learning lessons.
