The Ladies of Low Arvie

Richard had got into the habit of taking a last look at the mothers-to-be each night, before going to bed, and we had bought a very bright and powerful torch for the purpose. He went round and counted heads, making sure that all twenty-two cows were in view, and all was calm. The evening and night of October 3rd was rainy and cold, and I didn’t envy Richard this nightly trip, as he donned waterproofs and boots, at 9p.m., and set off into the dark. I was occupied in the office, catching up with emails, and didn’t notice the time passing and that Richard was being longer than usual. “Hi,” I called as the door opened, “everything ok?” No answer— instead, there was just a rustling of waterproofs and the clunking of boots being removed. I got up and looked into the kitchen, and found that, instead of taking off his outdoor clothes, Richard had removed his leather working boots and was replacing them with his Wellingtons. “I couldn’t find number 26,” he said, “and then, when I did, she was down near the brook, where the bank is steep. She has obviously calved, but was looking for the calf everywhere. I couldn’t find it either, and I think it must be in the brook.” He rushed off out into the night, once more. Number 26 was our oldest cow at twelve and a half years of age, and this would be her eighth or ninth calf. I went upstairs and found an old sheet. If he found the calf in the brook, I couldn’t think it would still be alive, but, if it were, he would need more than the towels in his bag to dry it with. I found an old flannelette sheet and a larger towel, and brought them down. As I searched for these, I had heard the tractor rev up and depart through the farm gate — he had taken it for the lights. For want of something better to do whilst I waited anxiously for news, I swung the kettle from the warm hob to the hot one and prepared to make the ever-consoling cup of tea. I filled the flask with a drink for Richard and drank mine as I paced about the house. Then I heard the tractor returning, I had no idea how long he had been, but as he burst into the house, he said, “I’ve found the calf and its still alive. I’m taking the trailer back for shelter and warmth.” I pushed the flannelette sheet, the large towel and the flask into his hands; also I thought of the storm lantern that I had bought at the agricultural supplier’s the week before. It was a substantial lamp with a large battery inside and it threw out a good light, and I thought it might be useful in the trailer. Once again, I was left with my own thoughts, as Richard rushed off out again to fix the trailer to the tractor, and, within a few minutes, I heard the combination leave the yard. I learned later that Richard had jumped into the brook by the fence into the wood, and worked his way back, shuffling his feet along the bottom. The top of the water was covered with the rushes, which were bent over from their roots along the bank, so he was unable to see anything, even with the help of the torch. The bank was steep and vertical for a distance of about fifty yards, and the cow had chosen this dangerous spot to push out her calf. We found out from experience later that, as soon as a calf is born, the mother licks it all over from head to tail, and, within a short time, the calf staggers to its feet on very wobbly legs. We assumed that either the mother had not seen how close the edge of the bank was in the darkness and, in licking it, could have tipped it over the edge, or it may have fallen over when it tried to get to its feet. Anyway, Richard had shuffled his feet about thirty yards along the ditch, when he felt something move against his legs. Reaching down into the water, he felt the shaggy coat of the little chap, beneath the cold water. It had taken all of Richard’s not inconsiderable strength to haul the calf out of the ditch and drop it wetly on the top of the bank. He had taken the small towel from the bag and done what he could to dry the black coat, but it was clear that more care was needed, if the calf was to survive his ordeal. He had left the calf to the ministrations of its mother, and driven back to the house for the trailer and sheet and towels.