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Push-Up Bras and Afterbirth

I made it through that first Grey County winter and learned about the amount of snow that can relentlessly accumulate during a winter storm. Every winter on the farm there were at least two storms that shut everything down for two to five days. Roads were closed, ploughs pulled off the road for safety, and three to eight feet of snow dumped down. Howling winds and cold that took my breath away. But, we still “chored” and worked in the barn through each and every storm; all farmers do.

However, recently the cold had broken, the days were a little longer, and the sun was starting to warm up. It was coming to calving season, so each morning at chores, and many times a day, I would do a “vijaja check.” That’s when you look at all the cow’s vaginas to see if there was swelling, mucus, or feet sticking out of it.

I was excited to officially be on my first calf watch. I had an estimated time of arrival so I could observe and learn how a bovine body changed with calving approaching. It was fascinating. Virgina, another experienced calver, was the first one due. She had a birth date of 2002, so she was five in 2007. The fella we bought her from said she was a good momma and would calve in the early spring.

Virgina, Big Momma (and Burgundy), Hump, and 679, the first four cows to start the herd, were still in the barn. Virgina was a pretty cow, and I got her because she looked wise when we were in the field looking at cows to buy. And she was.

But on this warm, sunny early spring day, I had just returned from a fairly positive job interview. As anyone who farms knows, it’s an expensive endeavour to set up a new farm and start a business too! I was still pretty citified at this point. Although I had stopped dying my hair, I was nowhere close to being a real farm girl yet!

I had checked on Virgina and the other cows before getting ready for the job interview, but I did not expect any action today. She didn’t look ready. I showered after chores and put on the good bra to keep the “ladies” (my boobs) in check while I interviewed. I’m not the wild and crazy girl of my twenties anymore; I was in my thirties and I looked respectable for this job interview. However, a good bra is required to be respectable, and I didn’t want to wear a bra to a job interview that I had previously warn in the barn in case it smelled like manure. Farmers get nose blind—we don’t smell shit after a while. So I got one of the fancy bras out from the back of my drawer. I was dressed modestly because, let’s face it, I knew I was built to work not look at, and I wasn’t looking for attention, I was looking for a job. These fence post legs and wide feet don’t do very well in heals.

Instead of going into the house to change right away—because how fun is that?—I decided to check on the ladies and get a little sunshine. I was hyper-focused on calf watch. It was a beautiful spring day; the sun was out. Earlier that morning I had let the girls into the yard when I did chores because it wasn’t too wet and soft yet. They enjoy a nice day almost as much as we do. I took a stroll down the back lane, along with my dogs, to check on the cows.

I rounded to the back of the barn and went up to the gate to chat with the bovine ladies. They were there eating hay from the feeder, chewing their cud and enjoying the sunshine. I looked over at Virgina and there were feet sticking out the back of her. I nearly died! The moment I had been waiting for since getting cows—to experience a natural bovine birth with my own eyes—was here! I was delighted. I stood at the gate, watching on pins and needles to see the progress. Nothing happened. The feet didn’t move; she didn’t seem to get any results when her contractions hit and she was pushing. After fifteen to twenty minutes, I thought, This is weird. The last calf was born in less than twenty minutes. Storey’s Guide to Raising Beef Cattle by Heather Smith Thomas said cows often take about thirty minutes to calve once in hard labour (when the feet protrude). The guide advised that longer than an hour was concerning, and the cow and calf would need some help.

I went to the house to get my Storey’s Guide, and I grabbed the birthing kit from the barn storeroom too! After the unexpected arrival of Burgundy in late fall, I read through the calving chapter like fifty times to be sure I was prepared for the next one. It recommended that you assemble rubber gloves, iodine, syringes to inject selenium, flashlights, an esophageal feeder, a bottle and nipples, and a bucket and soap. My birthing kit was in a large blue Rubbermaid that sealed out any bugs or dust to keep the tools in pristine condition.

I was prepared for this moment; I had put the kit together myself shortly after Burgundy arrived. I also quickly changed into rubber boots and took off my good shirt, leaving me in a camisole over my good bra. The calving kit had everything in it that you would need to assist in an emergency birth, so I was prepared for whatever was to come!

Was this an emergency? Would I need to assist? Should I call the vet? Holy smokes. No progress after thirty minutes to an hour is troubling, and you should likely do something. I opened the beef book again and read the instructions on how to help pull a calf. I was determined to do it my way and be kind to the cow and calf and not just put some mechanical thing on her and pull it out.

I got on some rubber gloves from the calving kit and went over and told Virgina I was going to help. I would pull when she pushed, and together we could get the calf out. A few contractions got us some progress, the front legs and the calf’s snout was part way out. It was a slow process, the calf seemed big. I broke the sack around the calf’s face so it could take a breath anytime. Virgina pushed while I pulled for a few more contractions, and that got us some progress, but the calf, which was about halfway out, now seemed stuck.

I went back to the book; it had said something about the calf getting stuck and “hip lock.” If it’s a big calf, and it seemed to be, then it can sometimes “get caught part way through the birth canal.” The book said, “Make sure the ribcage is out. Then pull the calf straight down.” Well, I may as well give that a whirl, I thought. The calf was halfway out, so the ribcage would be clear.

At the next contraction, I pulled down and was kind of under the calf pulling it out in a downward motion beside the cow’s back legs. She gave a push and there was actual movement. One more contraction where Virgina gave a push and I gave a good pull on my end and my worry dissolved when the calf gave a wiggle and took a deep breath. I had no idea how long this would take, and I didn’t want it to die, but that calf’s inhale gave me some energy and determination to work hard to get this calf out.

With the next contraction, I was ready to give a doozy of a pull! I braced my feet and gave it all I had. Miraculously, the calf popped out with the sound of suction and splashing. It came out so fast. It was a big calf! In its haste to now fully exit the birth canal, it landed right on top of me. Just as the calf jerked free, I slipped on some cow shit and birthing liquid, and as the calf landed, I buckled slightly under its unexpected weight and landed squarely on my ass beside the back end of the standing cow. As I went down, I held onto the calf so it came along for the ride, resting heavily on top of me.

All the afterbirth and mucus and grossness, including cow poop, landed on my neck and bare chest and slid down inside the camisole and into my push-up bra. It trickled down my tummy and started oozing out the bottom of the camisole. Gross! It smelled, it was slimy, and it was warm—too warm, ick!

But I did not care!

The calf rested for a minute or so, and I caught my breath and got my bearings. The calf wiggled, and as it struggled to stand for the first time, I helped it stand on its feet. It wobbled and collapsed to the ground, not yet ready to stand, but ready to be away from me. There was a calf—a real live calf! Holy smokes, I was delighted. In shock! Everything about it was unexpected. Momma turned around and started licking off the afterbirth and mucus that covered the slippery calf.

It was a girly, and we called her Harriot. She had the nickname “The Quiet Giant,” as she was a quiet and sweet animal. She also grew into a beautiful big cow who was three inches taller at her back than the rest of our herd. She had a painted face and a long snout, just like her momma. Virgina was notorious for throwing girls, and in her calving career at our farm, she had four heifers (girls) and two bulls (boys).

Harriot quickly latched onto Virginia’s udder and started drinking. It was a thing of beauty. Within a half hour of coming into this world, this calf was cleaned off, walking around, and drinking. Crazy. It was an absolute pleasure to be part of it, and I kind of felt a little like a farmer.

After the placenta was delivered and Virgina looked good and I was satisfied that the fresh calf had taken a drink, I collected the birth kit, the Storey’s Guide, and my dignity. I returned to the house so I could get cleaned up—the second shower so far today. As I walked, I pulled off the big pieces of afterbirth and slime and tried to ring out my camisole. Thank goodness the laundry room was just inside the side door. I got to the laundry room, fully dropped trough (stripped naked), including my fancy push-up bra, dumped everything into the washer and set it going.

I walked across the house to the shower buck naked and went about scrubbing the now drying afterbirth and debris off my skin. I was delighted and totally grossed out at the same time. I got dressed, and with wet hair and a big smile, I went out to check on the new addition. She was resting beside her momma in the deep, dry straw in the barn, well on her way to sleeping after her big adventure into the world.

There are some things in life you will never forget. A lot of them, really. My dad, who was a great storyteller, often said that life is a long road without a bend. He was usually shaking his head in exasperation at my inexperience. Sometimes it was a warning because I was on the verge of making a stupid decision. It never occurred to me until I was much older how true and meaningful that statement is.

You remember the moments that change you and affect you so deeply that they leave a little mark. Good and bad moments, often just as funny as they are painful. You remember them and cherish them, and they become the lessons you live by and often the stories you tell yourself and others; the road map of your life. You don’t let them hold you back or dwell on them for the pain, but with inspiration and pride at the moments that changed you, made you into the person you are prouder to be now. And in the quiet moments of your life when you are alone and you think about your past and your journey to the current point in your life, that rear-view mirror shows you the long road you have travelled to be where you are now.

The first time I pulled a calf is in my rear-view mirror. It’s a marker on my road of adventures, lessons, fortunate and unfortunate events of my life up to this point. I love having that experience, and I am so grateful it went well—certainly not perfectly, but no one died! Even in the moment as it was unfolding, I knew how lucky and blessed I was to be in it. Some things—like a fresh, live calf I helped birth and the feeling and smell of bovine afterbirth in my push-up bra—just stick with you through your whole life. It was an experience I learned to never repeat, mostly because I never had reason to wear a push-up bra again. Some things you only need to learn once.