On July 6th we had to put our 13-year old cow Crockpot down. We found her on June 30th near the drinker at the Mason Pasture unable to get up, and though she continued to try to rise through the week, her legs were not able to support her. We did what we could to help her recover and stand, but by the end of the week it was clear she was not improving. A neighbor helped us end her life humanely by shooting her. She had a quick death.

Crockpot was a unique force in our little herd. She was what some people would call a “leader”, and other people might call a “bad influence.” She was smart, wily, and determined, and when she got it in her mind to do something, she did it, usually taking half the herd with her. If there was one cow that I never worried about on range it was her–she was the one that would survive anything! However, she was also responsible for many shenanigans, which made her both infuriating at times, and highly memorable.

Anyone who has tried to bring the cows off range on horseback has stories of her going the opposite direction with her calf. Sometimes she would sneak out the back, and other times, just gallop off at the first sign that someone wanted her to go in a particular direction. It is telling that I have about 1000 pictures of Myj and maybe 2 of Crockpot, somewhere in the back of the herd, turned away, getting ready to disappear.

She was a leader, but I don’t know that she was a beloved leader. One time we were bringing about 6 cows on range and we put them in a small corral divided into two parts with some hay while we waited for another trailer to bring more. Within 15 minutes Crockpot had every other cow harried into the first tiny pen while she had her section (and her hay) all to herself. 

Another time we had her in a holding pen on range and she got tired of how long it was taking and just jumped out, scratching one of her teats on the barbed wire in the process.

Her intelligence also meant she was capable of holding a grudge, and John tells the story (as I remember it) that he had bumped her a little bit on the butt with an Irrigation line at Masons he was trying to move, and he swore that she walked to the corner of the pasture, looked back to make sure that he was watching, and broke through a gate.

In spite of her crankiness, she was a truly fabulous mother. The only decent photo I personally took of her is a video of her just after giving birth when I found her in the woods last fall with her newborn calf. She was everything a calf could want in a mother: protective, loyal, warm, full of milk, and patient with nursing. Who could want more??

In her last week, I got to see her in a way that I hadn’t seen her before: vulnerable, scared, almost tender. When Lowell helped me try to lift her with the tractor he spent time giving her a vigorous encouraging rubdown all around the head and shoulders, and she responded with trance-like bliss at his attention. I never thought I would see that! 

Her growing frustration at not being able to get up, and constant trying to the point of putting herself in danger, was in keeping with her character. She was not a cow that wanted to be grounded. Giving her release in the end felt like a final act of respect.

Yesterday would have been her 13th birthday.