After dinner, everyone, including my maternal grandparents, went back to the farm to get the calf ready for the night. It was going to get down to the high 40's that night, and without another cow to snuggle up with, that calf would get cold.
Before we prepared his bedding, uncle Wade warmed up another pint of colostrum for the calf while I climbed into the hay feeder and attempted to get the calf to stand. He was just dead weight, and no matter how hard I tried, the calf would just drop to the ground as soon as I relaxed my muscles to let him hold his own weight. At one point, the calf fell so quickly and violently that he nearly knocked himself out on the side of the metal feeder. I was able to hold him up by his torso, but I couldn't catch his head before it went limp and slammed into the side of the feeder. For a second, I thought he just died in my arms, but to everyone's relief, the calf lifted his head and flicked his ears. He was fine.
I decided to stop trying to get him to stand without any help, and curled him up on the grass. I stuck my finger in my mouth to make sure he'd still suckle, and he did. He first suckled slowly, but then instinct kicked in, and he suckled on my finger like his life depended on it. As long as he could suckle, I figured he still had a chance to grow up into a healthy breeding bull. But only time could tell.
While Wade jogged over from the house with another warm bottle in hand, Jacob leaned over the hay feeder and told me he wanted to name the calf. I didn't like this idea. I didn't want to become emotionally attached to the calf, or at least become even more attached than I already was, by naming it. But Jacob insisted, and with the help of his brother and my grandpa, they came up with the name "Fighter" for the orphaned bull calf.
Uncle Wade clambered over the hay feeder and handed me the milk bottle. While he held the calf up, my job was to get the bottle in Fighter's mouth and make him drink. Wade told me to squeeze the bottle a little bit to get some milk into Fighter's system, whether or not he consciously swallowed it down. Otherwise, Wade feared he'd have to bag feed the calf, which involved shoving a tube down the calf's throat and into his stomach. However, there was always a chance that tube could go down the wrong pipe, and there was no way of telling until it was too late.
Turns out, Troy's herd had another orphaned calf a few years before who needed to be bag fed. Unfortunately, when they tried to bag feed the calf after it refused to drink, the tube went down the wrong pipe, and that calf ended up drowning. It was clearly a very traumatic experience for my uncle, because he told me he would have me be the one to bag feed Fighter if it came down to it. He just could not go through the same thing again. After hearing his story, I didn't want to bag feed the calf either. So, Troy decided if it came down to it, he'd be the one to bag feed Fighter.
Wade got Fighter on his feet, but Fighter wasn't opening his mouth to accept the bottle. I could feel the anxiety emanating off my uncle as the calf refused to take the bottle, so I held the bottle upright between my feet, held the calf's head with one hand, and forced my finger in its mouth with the other. Then, I picked up the bottle again and switched out my finger for the bottle. Meanwhile, the calf desperately tried to move his head out of the way as we forced the bottle into his mouth, but he eventually began suckling on the bottle as I lightly squeezed it.
I figured if Fighter had enough fight in him to resist us that much, then he had a decent chance of living through this whole ordeal just fine. Fighter still needed help standing up, and he hadn't taken his first step yet. But at least he was active enough to throw his own head around, when just a few minutes before, he was so weak that he slammed his head into the side of the hay feeder. Clearly, he was getting something into his stomach, even though he really didn't want to eat. So, that encouraged us both to keep forcing him to guzzle down his milk until two pints were down.
When the calf drank down two pints of milk, we let him down to rest. My uncle Wade asked me to get a couple of straw bales, while my grandpa popped open the trunk of his car and fetched an old flannel blanket to lay on top of the calf.
I lifted up two bales and carried them back to the hay feeder at once. I was actually pretty impressed by my ability to carry so much weight. Of course, most of the lifting strength was derived from my legs while I just let the bales hang from my hands by the twine. Wade took both bales from me and spread the straw around until the whole floor of the bale feeder was covered in it. Then, he allowed the calf to lay down and curl up, while my grandpa covered the calf in the blanket. That calf was about as comfortable as a calf could get. He was out cold almost as soon as that blanket was laid on top of him.
By then, it was very late at night. My grandparents wished me a goodnight before heading back to Wabasha where they were staying, and my uncle Wade stayed with me for a bit longer just to make sure the calf was comfortable and all of the gates on the farm were secured. My grandma Shirley urged me to go back inside for the night. Fighter would live through the night, and Wade would be back in the morning to feed him. But, I needed to go to bed, or at least try, since my day had been so long and busy. To be fair, I was exhausted, but I was so anxious about Fighter that I didn't think I could sleep.
