We walked back to the orphaned calf just in time to see my uncle Wade pulling into the farm with all of the necessary supplies to feed him. He stepped out of the truck, grabbed the bags of milk replacement and colostrum, as well as a half gallon calf bottle. He handed these things to grandma, who rushed inside to mix and heat everything up for the little bull calf.
My cousin Wade's girlfriend wanted to see the healthy calf after visiting with the sick calf. The sight of the little orphaned calf made her very sad, and she wanted to see the healthy calf to lift her spirits. She was a city girl from Wisconsin after all. So, while Wade Jr took his girlfriend out to the healthy bull calf in the pasture, I helped my uncle Wade bring the sick calf into the shade. He scooped the little calf up, and I jogged over to the straw bales to make a straw bed for the calf. The bale I lifted weighed a good 60 pounds or so, which was about as much as the newborn calves weighed. I swung the bale like a pendulum until I had enough momentum to get it over the wire fence, and then I let it fly. As soon as I tossed the straw bale over the other side of the wire fence in the pole shed, I heard movement by the back wall of the shed and stopped to stare in that direction.
There, squeezing through a hole under the steel siding, a curious skunk came crawling up to me. Wade Sr, with the calf in his arms, also stopped mid stride when he saw the skunk. Both him and I shared the same wide-eyed, pale look on our faces, and I mouthed "help me" while the skunk approached. I did not breathe as that curious little stinker came right up to me like a dog and pressed its little nose against my leather boots. It squealed like it was delighted to see me as it curiously sniffed all around my boots. I, on the other hand, wanted to be anywhere but there. If I made any movement or noise, I was going to get sprayed. If I got sprayed, the nickname "Redneck" I'd worked so hard to earn would probably be replaced with something a lot less desirable.
After the skunk was done checking me out, it sniffed around in the straw for a little bit as it made its way back to the hole it came from. When it was some distance away from me, I felt like I could breathe again. I had just enough courage to slowly pull my phone out, and get a picture of the little guy. The skunk was cute. Not nearly as cute as the little bull calves were. But, if it didn't have the power to ruin my life for three weeks and my dignity forever, I probably would've reached down to pet the fluffy little thing.
Both my uncle and I burst into laughter as soon as the coast was clear. That was our chosen coping mechanism after surviving a near-traumatic experience unscathed. I don't think either of us could believe what just happened. In fact, if I didn't take any pictures, I don't think I would've believed that happened. I clambered up and over the gate and spread the straw bale around in the pole shed while uncle Wade brought the calf over and laid him down in the bed of straw. He was just barely clinging to life.
Wade asked me to stay with the calf while he went to get the bottle. I laid down in the straw next to the calf. His eyes were open, though barely, and he couldn't even hold his own head up. I was worried we were losing him, so to get his attention, I stuck my finger in his mouth to see if he would suckle. As soon as I did this, his eyes popped open and he began to suckle on my finger as hard as he could. That poor calf was starving and dehydrated, but I was just glad he still had the strength to suckle. If he didn't suckle my finger, then he wouldn't have suckled the bottle once we gave it to him.
Uncle Wade rushed over with a warm bottle for the calf a few minutes later, and I pulled my finger out of the calf's mouth so my uncle could get him to suckle on something that would actually save him. The calf did take the bottle, but he wasn't drinking very much. He seemed almost shocked to find out that if he sucked on that bottle, he'd get something out of it.
After a few minutes of watching this little bull calf weakly suck on the bottle, Wade handed the bottle over to me and picked the calf up. Maybe if we got the calf to stand, he'd have an easier time drinking. Once we had the calf on his feet, we gave him the bottle again, and this time he seemed to drink more.
After only drinking a pint or so, the calf dropped his head and collapsed into the straw. He was exhausted. But, that pint of colostrum was a good start, and would ensure he'd make it through the night. We still didn't think he had much of a chance. He might make it through the night, but I didn't think he'd make it through the next day. But, there was a chance, however small it was, that the little calf would pull through. I just told myself not to get too emotionally attached to him.
But, by the time I told myself this, I worried it was already too late. My heart ached for the little calf. In some ways, he reminded me of myself. I too, had a rough start. Yet, I somehow pulled through. Perhaps, with the right care and effort, this little calf would also pull through, though his chances of survival seemed to dwindle more every minute.
As the sun began to set, my uncle brought a bale feeder from the pasture to the lawn to keep the calf in. We planned a huge family dinner that night in Lake City, and we'd done everything we could for the calf. So, while we were gone, the calf could sleep in the shade of the maple trees that lined the cattle yard fence, just feet away from the pole shed. We couldn't keep him in the pole shed like we originally planned thanks to that skunk, but he'd be just as safe in the lawn. There wasn't a drop of rain in the forecast for the next week, the temperatures would be bearable, and the wind was calming down too. If the forecast were to change, Troy promised to be over in a heartbeat to bring that little bull calf home with him. He just wasn't sure if keeping a calf in his living room was something he wanted to do if he didn't have to.
Once the calf was all settled, I made my way back to the house. Right as I was walking over there, I saw the skunk I saw earlier, only this time he was running across the lawn towards the house. I was worried he was heading into the garage, but he ran along the side of the house instead, and disappeared into the bushes by the open back door.
"Uh oh." I thought, "Did he just find his way into the house?!"
Grandma Shirley came rushing over to me, insisting that I went inside so I could quickly clean up. She didn't care that a skunk possibly just found its way into the house through the back screen door. We had to be in Lake City for dinner in 45 minutes, and I was a mess! My hands were drenched in mud and calf spit from letting it suckle on my fingers, my hair was a knotted up, and I was all dusty from being outside in the wind for the entire day.
I threw on a change of clothes, scrubbed my face, hand,s and arms until I was sure I didn't have any more calf DNA on them, brushed all of the knots out of my hair, and replaced my dusty cowboy hat with a regular camo cap. When I ventured outside again, my cousins were crowded around the granary. Apparently, they saw the skunk go in there, and they wanted to exterminate it. Troy had a 9 millimeter handgun while Wade had his 12 gauge shotgun. They threw open the granary door and began to inspect the area.
There was no sign of the skunk, but up by the ceiling towards the back wall, there was a huge bushy trail belonging to a raccoon. My cousins stared up at it, debating on whether or not to blow a hole through the ceiling. The place wasn't in great shape, so they weren't worried about putting holes in the walls. They were more worried about what could happen if they shot a massive hole through the ceiling by the rotting rafters barely holding the second floor up.
Wade lifted his shotgun a few times, and we plugged our ears while he prepared to shoot, but he let the gun back down each time. He just couldn't do it. It was just too risky. Instead, we just stood there and stared at the ringed tail dangling down from the ceiling, until grandma's shrill voice stopped us from executing another potentially disastrous idea.
We all packed into vehicles. I ended up riding with grandma, Kael, and Jacob in her minivan, while everyone headed to Lake City in their sports cars and trucks. Lake City was only 10 miles away from the farm, so it didn't take us very long to get to the restaurant of our choice. There, my maternal grandparents met us, and I couldn't wait to tell them about all the adventures I'd had just in that day alone!
My maternal grandparents seemed a little overwhelmed by my paternal family's lively dinnertime conversations. It was just us in the restaurant, but it sounded like the place was full as we shared stories and laughed at each other's misadventures. My grandparents caught up with the family after not seeing them for 14 years!
It felt very strange in a way, to have my maternal grandparents sitting at the head of the table surrounded by my paternal relatives. I was too young to remember what it was like when my parents were together and hosted holiday parties with both sides of the family. Now, 14 years later, we were together again. Only, my grandpa Bob wasn't there anymore. That was difficult to deal with, especially when the conversation steered towards stories about grandpa.
I wish my parents could've kept their drama between themselves, rather than gossiping about it to every ear that would listen. My relatives beyond them weren't at odds with one another. In fact, my relatives missed each other very much, and always asked me to let the other side know they missed them and couldn't wait to see them again, if it was possible.
I'm still very angry about the fact that it took the death of my grandpa to mend my parents' wounds enough to allow my family to mix again. I think my dad was very touched by the fact my mom flew out to Minnesota with me for the funeral, and my mom was very touched by just how much my relatives cared about me and her. I guess, in life, it often takes a tragedy to bring both sides together on good terms again. But, I really wish that wasn't the case.
