Glory

Moments after Sparkle’s tiny heifer slipped into our world last week, my first words were, “Glory be!” It’s not an expression that I use often, if ever, so I sort of surprised myself.

In the ensuing days, we’ve considered a number of clever names for this little cutie, but none of them seemed right. I wanted to call her Glory, but kept talking myself out of it. After all, “glory” refers to extreme admiration, awesome splendor, wondrous majesty, astounding beauty, and heavenly bliss—descriptions seldom applied to cows. But during yesterday’s morning chores, I decided that my world could stand a good deal more splendor, beauty, and bliss, so Glory it is!

“In a great chorus they sang, 'Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty! The whole earth is filled with His glory!'" –ISAIAH 6:3 (NLT)

Breakfast at Clarabelle's

Clarabelle had been eating much better but still not giving enough milk, so I texted some folks Friday and asked them to pray.

I was confident that our prayers would be answered because one of the names of God is El Shaddai, which is usually translated as “God Almighty” or sometimes as “the God of more-than-enough.” Actually, the root word of shaddai in Hebrew actually means “the breasty one”.

In his Synonyms of the Old Testament, R.B. Girdlestone says, “The title ‘Shaddai’ really indicated the fullness and riches of God’s grace, and would remind the Hebrew reader that from God cometh every good and perfect gift.”

God was gracious, and Clarabelle’s bag was full of dairy riches Saturday morning! Even after Cisco had filled his tummy, she still had milk left over!

“Christ’s love is greater than anyone can ever know, but I pray that you will be able to know that love. Then you can be filled with the fullness of God.” –EPHESIANS 3:19 (NCV)

The Gift

Readers that follow this blog know that Sparkle, the heifer that calved last night, is often referred to as our therapy cow. Sparkle isn’t the gentlest of the heifers, but when she approaches us and nuzzles our hands, for some reason we always feel, well, lifted up. I can’t explain why—her nose is always slimy, after all—but we just do.

I know two people that are like that. Just being in their presence for a few moments somehow makes me feel, well, lifted up. It’s not so much what they do or say, it’s just a gift they have.

Anyway, it seems that Sparkle’s gift works on her fellow cows as well. Clarabelle, who had Cisco several days ago, had been too nervous to eat or drink much; consequently, she didn’t make enough milk. But when I put Sparkle and her (still unnamed) calf out in the pen next to Clarabelle today, the latter settled down and started to eat and drink much more. The milk machine has kicked into a higher gear.

The gift may be heritable. The very first time I approached Sparkle’s little heifer, she took a few steps toward me. I bent down, and she nuzzled my nose with hers!

“Yet each person has a special gift from God, of one kind or another.”                             –1 CORINTHIANS 7:7b (NLT)

The Watusi

I knew that Sparkle’s delivery was  imminent when I found her in the corner of the corral this evening, holding her tail straight out behind her and waggling her hindquarters back and forth.

“What’s she doing? Have you ever seen a cow do that before?” I asked Hubby, who has witnessed hundreds, if not thousands, of bovine nativities.

“Never,” he replied. “She’s doing the Watusi.”

Well, we opened up a gate and the barn door. Sparkle marched right in without any prompting on our part—just checked herself into the maternity ward! Then she came up to each of us to nose our hands. She tends to do that, but cows don’t usually want people anywhere around them when they calve, so it was as remarkable as the Watusi that she kept dancing.

There was no water bag or slime showing, so we thought we were in for a lengthy process. But when we went back to the barn to check on her, she was mooing to her newborn calf, who was already up and starting to nurse!

The heifer is tiny but healthy and extremely agile. Because she came so fast and is so little, I’m thinking about calling her Lightning Bug. At any rate, Hubby says that Sparkle’s hospital bill should be half-price, since she delivered before the doctor even showed up.

I wonder if the Lamaze folks know about the Watusi.

“A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance….”                     –ECCLESIASTES 3:4

Cisco

There’s nothing like a stillborn calf (see yesterday’s post) to engender great relief and gratitude for the safe delivery of Clarabelle’s baby bull last night. The handsome, strong, curly-coated calf, named Cisco, is full of vim and vigor and has an extremely hearty appetite!

Of all the black baldy heifers we bought last year, Clarabelle was the only one who seemed to take after the Angus side of her family. The other twelve had the wonderfully gentle Hereford disposition, but Clarabelle seemed to be inherently suspicious, spooky, and easily riled. She’s gradually come to trust us, but I always wondered if she’d revert to her Angus-ness when she became a mama. (Black Angus mamas are prone to over-protectivity following parturition, which can make for some hair-raising moments for their caregivers!)

Thankfully, my concerns were unfounded. Clarabelle is a devoted mama but still a model citizen, so I didn’t need to update my will before treating Cisco’s umbilical cord or taking this photo!.

“Be strong, vigorous, and very courageous. Be not afraid, neither be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” –JOSHUA 1:9 (AMP)

Ouch

Early yesterday evening, our sweet Petunia delivered a stillborn calf nearly three weeks early. The sight of that beautiful, lifeless heifer was tough, but her mama’s distress was heartrending. The pain of it caused my knees to buckle, and I just sank to the ground and sobbed.

When we brought Petunia up from the pasture and put her with her old friends, Princess and Daisy Mae, she began to calm down. I felt a little better when Hubby announced that Petunia would not be rebred and is now officially retired. Hubby, like the vast majority of ranchers, has never “retired” a cow that was no longer reproductively sound. He’s sold them at auction. Feeding an unproductive cow indefinitely is the worst kind of business decision, but Petunia isn’t just a cow. She’s more like family.

“For the Lord has comforted His people and will have compassion upon His afflicted.” –ISAIAH 49:13b (AMP)

The Sale

If you’re quiet, you can hear the sounds of spring in cow country: birds singing, cows calling calves to mealtime, and auctioneers selling bulls and replacement heifers.

In general, the cattle market is quite vulnerable to volatile factors such as weather here and abroad, grain markets here and abroad, prices of fuel and fertilizer, foreign demand for beef, numbers of cattle in feedlots, and public perception of beef nutrition and safety (itself subject to a torrent of information which is often distorted or false).

That’s the big picture. The worth of an individual animal is also dependent on the seller’s reputation for quality and integrity, the animal’s phenotype (quality as determined by appearance and ultrasound), genotype (genetic potential), actual performance, as well as a buyer’s needs, preferences, and depth of pocketbook.

If I were a cow, I’d be chased into a sale ring and weighed on a scale for all to see. And after folks took a look at my scars, limp, bad back, and multiple brands, there would be more snickers and jokes than bids. Probably the only one bidding would be the slaughter buyer, the man that buys what no one else wants—for cheap. (Where else do you think those burgers on the dollar menu come from?)

But, just before the auctioneer would give up and wave me out, a bearded guy sitting on the back row bleachers would tip his white Stetson. Everyone would turn and gawk at him, as the auctioneer resumed the bidding.

“I’ve got 65, who’ll give me seventy?”

The guy in the white hat would stand up and pull his checkbook out of his Carhart pocket. With a commanding voice and a twinkle in his eye, he’d say, Is seventy centillion enough? Then he’d write the check with a pen that positively glittered and ink as crimson as blood.

For once in his life, the auctioneer would be nearly speechless. “Are you crazy?" he’d finally sputter. “That cow ain’t--”

The buyer’s eyes would darken. He’d clear his throat. “Don’t talk about my cow like that! I just gave everything I had for her.”

If anyone could manage to tear their gaze away from the eyes of the man in the white hat, they’d see that the check was already in the hands of the clerk. Her face would be pale and her hands shaking as she stared at the signature on the check: Jesus Christ.

“For you know that God paid a ransom to save you…. And the ransom he paid was not mere gold or silver. It was the precious blood of Christ, the sinless, spotless Lamb of God.” –1 PETER 1:18-19 (NLT)