Feb 29, 2016 3 min read

Friday morning dawned like so many others before it. I arose, made coffee and drank it while reading my Bible. I got the kids out the door to the bus stop and headed out the door toward the chicken coop.

It is my routine.

As soon as I stepped out the door, I knew something was wrong with one of the cows. A steady mooing was coming from their area of the farm, which is quite out of the ordinary. So I headed that direction first, figuring that my chickens would live a few minutes longer without their morning rations.

When I arrived at the small field that comprises the winter feed area, I noticed a new calf had been born overnight. I walked over to it to see if it was a heifer or bull, and was happy to see it was already dry. It jumped up as I crept close, so I had no choice but to scoop it up and carry it into the birthing pen to look it over. Its mother followed close behind, noisily making her presence known.

It was while in the pen with the cow and calf I noticed the bellowing hadn’t ceased, meaning that this new calf was not the cause. I decided to return to the field and try again to discover the source. It was one of the cows who gave birth two weeks ago, bawling in the direction of a hay feeder.

That particular feeder is rectangular with slots all along the sides, designed for cows to stick their heads through it. It is raised up off of the ground, maybe eight inches, by what appear to be sleigh runners, leaving the bottom open on both the front and back ends. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a calf slid underneath the feeder overnight. She was stuck.

I knelt down in the wetness that isn’t water (yuck!) to begin moving hay from around the feeder. As soon as I cleared enough space to pull her out, I reached out to grab her. But when I touched her, she tried to run. She only succeeded in wedging herself farther underneath. In addition, she tried to stand up in the confined space and ended up with her shoulders on the ground and her front legs sticking out behind her. Her nose was also pressed to the ground beneath her.

I immediately ran for the house. Even with no hay in the feeder, I would not have been able to lift it off of her for long enough to ensure her escape. I feared if I tried, I would drop it on her and kill her.

My husband immediately came to help, even before I had the breath to explain the problem. He used the spear on the tractor to hook the feeder and tip the end up enough that I could turn the calf around. She immediately ran to her mother and began nursing. The bawling finally stopped.

Since we were already there, we attended to the new calf and turned mother and baby back out of the birthing pen. Somewhat later – and far more disheveled – than usual, I finally made it to the chicken coop. They hadn’t even missed me yet.

My new routine may include an extra cup of coffee and a few extra minutes of prayer time – so long as I don’t hear bellowing coming from the cow pen.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.