Kat Dancing

Three more calves. Jam, who's nearly a week overdue, dropped a *massive* heifer yesterday . We've named her Doughnut, which inevitably leads to the nickname of Doh. It's unfortunately apt. Little Doh is not the brightest crayon in the box. She's also had various problems - we think she must have been pinched somehow in the birth canal, or stepped on, or something, because it took her twenty-four hours to be able to walk and usually they're on their feet within the hour. Severe coordination problems. When I left her last night she was only just getting the hang of sitting up instead of flopping around on her side and waving her legs in the air. I had to bottle feed her while she was still lying down just to get some colostrum in her. The colostrum, the shot of Vital E, and the time seem to have done her good, though - she was on her feet and walking this morning, although she's still a bit shaky and weird. But it looks like whatever was wrong with her was temporary. The lack of brain cells, unfortunately, is probably permanent, but she'll be all right. Stupid but sweet.

Zara finally had a bull calf last night - she'd been acting weird all day. Tried to claim Doh and tried to help eat Jam's afterbirth (cows are weird.) Then Dragon had a bull calf on Dad's 2 am shift. As I type this Cora is definately in labor and Tita may be. Things are picking up at last!

SimLife has been eating most of my spare time. I think my crayfish are going to learn how to walk soon....

No calves when I got up in the morning, to my disappointment, but Robin went this afternoon while the parents were off visiting another dairy. The silly bitch decided to have hers standing up. This really isn't a problem - falling two feet and landing on your head does not actually seem to bother a newborn calf all that much, although usually I catch them if I can - but it's certainly the hard way if you're the mother. I kept giving her pep talks - "Go on, then, Robin, lay down. Just lay down, it'll be much easier. Go on..." but I, never having had a calf, was apparently not a reliable source of advice, and so she went splay-legged trying to stay upright through the heavy contractions. Bloody Jerseys. She had a nice little heifer, though. We've named her Lark.

The other six are now being trained to suck off the bucket feeder - this is, for the unintiated (translation: "those who do *not* smell of sour milk") basically a bucket with rubber nipples round the bottom. They're doing good, mostly, except for Scout, who is still in the I Will Die Sooner Than Eat mode (as I said before, bloody Jerseys) and Wanna's bull, who got left with his mother a little too long and is pining. I suppose I ought to feel sorry for him, but as "pining" translates to "bawling at the top of his lungs all day and night without apparently pausing for breath" my sympathy is limited. In fact, I want to strangle the little bugger, and if he doesn't straighten up within the next few days I *will*.

Compare this to Croissant, who, at a day old, is sucking so hard and so enthusiastically at her nipple that I sometimes think her eyeballs will implode. Why can't they all be like that?

Dull day other than that. Parents were gone, as mentioned, so I mostly putzed around on the net doing worldbuilding research for Harmony, which is what I do when I'm trying to avoid actually writing the thing. It works well. There's nothing like the 'net for killing time.

Woke up this morning to find my mother hauling one dazed, damp-looking calf out of the field while another lively one frisked around at her feet and an entire plethora of bawling, hormone-crazed cows galloping behind her. Memo to self: start getting up earlier. None, of course, of the rowdy plethora were the actual *mothers* of the two calves; those we had to round up from the far ends of the field where they were panicking, while Eclaire - who had just broke her water- got in the way and tried to take over the calves and kill the dogs and made a general nuisance of herself, and the lively calf danced around and got underfoot and tried to fall in the watertrough and made a general nuisance of *her* self. It was a bloody circus.

Things did eventually calm down, and milking wasn't half bad. The damp calf, Sitar's, was a bull; the lively one was a heifer. Her mother's name is Vera, but due to her behavior and us all having just watched "To Kill a Mockingbird" she was unanimously dubbed Scout. She's a handful for somebody less than a day old. Eclair took her time, fussing around and taking rest breaks, but eventually was delivered of a rather large heifer calf that we've named Croissant.

Back.

The short version of the news: finished my semester, flunked a class, currently taking two classes over the 'net so I can actually graduate and just finished doing 36 hours worth of service work towards the same lofty goal. Came home and began working for the parents. Started a new novel, Harmony Station, while continuing to stack up rejection slips on the last one. The new one is going well, though, even if I haven't been able to work on it for a while.

I must stop taking these unplanned hiatuses. The catch-up paragraphs are too stressful.

Yesterday the first calf of the 2003 calving season was born. Looks like it's going to be a funny year overall. I had just been saying to my dad, "I give Wanna (the cow) twenty-four hours," and I walked out and, splat, there she was with a calf. Same thing happened this morning. I came in (at eight - milking my late mornings for all they're worth while they last) and said, "Any more?"

"No," said my dad. Five minutes later I was phoning him from the field.

"Dad, you lied...."

Not his fault, really. There was a moment of panic when I thought Amelia'd had twins, but it turned out to be another cow, Didgeridoo, who'd calved as well. Jeez. Those were the only two today - both heifers (Wanna had a bull). We've named Amelia's Charlie, after an uncle of my mother's, and Didge's Oz because we're just about out of weird instrument names and figured we might as well branch out into Australian names. I was voting for Shiela, but there we are.

The rest of them are standing around out there, looking large and pregnant. I think if Eclaire sneezes she'll have a calf shooting out her bum. However, she hasn't slowed down eating yet, so she can't be too close - although knowing Claire she could be chewing right up to the point that the calf hits the ground.