Thursday, March 11, 2010

She's not so horny

I bet I'm the only woman in America who's entertaining this particular fanatasy:
Morning. Peachy pink sunrise.  I slide into the barn.  Hendrika looks up at me and says, "Listen lady, I'm horny as hell.  Where them bulls? I need me some bulls.  Can't you get me some bulls?  When you go out, pick me up some bulls, why don't ya, and a fifth of Jose Cuervo too.  Damn.  I'm a horny heifer."

How else am I going to tell if my one and only heifer is in heat?  Blue might tell me it's too cold for that (snow right now!).  You're supposed to look for standing heat, but there's no one for her to stand under.  Unless you count the calf, who tries to mount her, but she scuttles away.  If she were in heat, she'd take it.  And the only way you're going to be able to keep your breakfast down is if you forget that calf is her daughter and try to remember that the term "animal" as applied to humans refers to people who don't mind those good-n-healthy taboos.  Either that, or I need a bovine psychologist out here much more than I need an artificial inseminator with along arm and a tender touch.

Perhaps there's a reason she's not in heat.  Perhaps she's gestating already!  When we got her, she'd come straight off range land and the company of wild bulls. Her calf was already four months old, meaning she'd potentially, effectively done the nasty before we got her.

She was a scrawny wench when she arrived.  I've fed her generously since.  Her stomach is a foot and a half wider than in September, as measured by how well she fits, or no longer fits, in her stanchion.  Pregnant? Fat?  It's notoriously hard to tell some times.  And what am I going to do?  Ask her when she's due?  Well... I've made that mistake before and I'm not keen on repeating it.

When I milk her, I sometimes lean my head on her belly, when she's not been sleeping in a pile of her own crap, of course.  And lately I swear, I've been kicked in the the head while I'm leaning.  I thought I felt her belly hiccupping, although I'm pretty sure even calves in utero don't hiccup.  And her bulge does not hang symmetrically, a sure sign someone's playing twister inside it.

This could all be wishful thinking on my part.  She's drying up really fast this week and we've initiated emergency measures, like twice daily milkings, like actual, real farmers.  If she's not pregnant, I'm going to end up with a dry cow who never goes in heat, also known as hamburger.  I'll give her until May to produce an heir.   

Otherwise, we've got balls to the wall around here.  Friday, Coyote left the sink going, flooding two stories and collapsing part of the basement ceiling.  Then we spent the weekend biking the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes with Huck's dad.  And Blue's had half days all week, plus on conference, plus we just found out she's actually getting beaten up at school!  Yikes!  Home schooling?  Coyote's midwife died suddenly of cancer on Monday.  I was pretty much behind on everything already, but processing that tragedy has demanded two tea's, a knitting circle, and several phone conferences. And Huck's work has been both demanding and rewarding lately, which means I've cleaned the kitchen so much that I'm going to just barf if I look at another dirty dish. To paraphrase, "Life is full of dishes, laundry, bullshit, cancer, and jack-asses and it's all over much too soon."

2 comments:

  1. Oh Sarajoy, I'm so sorry to hear about Veronica and your flood and Blue's bad times at school. And the cow who won't give it up just doesn't help. I hope it all get's better and sorted out soon. I'm going to miss Veronica too. I'm thinking of you guys!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks Lara. Some milk this morning, but then a poopy hoof landed in it...
    I think V's funeral will be a good way to connect with others having a hard time accepting this.
    Hope you are well.

    ReplyDelete

LinkWithin

Related Posts with Thumbnails