Fluniper had her calf on Thursday the 13th–a boy. I saw the two together on Friday morning and the calf was nursing well and both seemed healthy.
Saturday, Maritza Broce from the Cooperative Extension program at the U of A visited us for an SJ tour. She administers the Agricultural Apprentice program that has allowed us to hire Nick. What a pleasure it was to spend the day with her! Maritza is one of those rare people who is both a big thinker AND can get things done. She has made the apprenticeship program very easy to work with and she is always thinking about how the program can benefit hosts and apprentices both. We spent the day touring El Potrero, Coffee at Dave’s, range, the goats at Barbara’s, the Community Center for lunch, the community garden, and finally meeting the whole herd at Masons.
And then the sad news, right on the heals of such a satisfying visit. It was a hot, hot day and by the time we went to Mason’s it was just Maritza and I. As we drove up, I saw Fluniper standing alone in the field–that’s odd. Then I saw the flight of vultures take off from nearby and my heart dropped. As we walked up we could see that Fluniper was standing over her dead calf, bawling and confused by the unmoving animal. It was hard to believe that this animal that had been so alive the day before was now dead, but there was no denying what was in front of us. Maritza cemented my high opinion of her by helping me load the calf on a tarp and get him into the back of my pickup.
I don’t know what caused the calf’s death. He had been nursing fine the day before and looked bonded with his mama. There was absolutely no large predator sign–no tracks, no drag marks, no bites or broken bones. He had probably only been dead for about 12 hours, but it looked like birds had been feeding on him–one eye had been pecked out and the feeding concentrated on soft areas of the body. He had some oddly stiffened hard tissue around one side of his neck and face. Theories put forward include rattlesnake bite on his face or raven attack. But it is still a mystery.
Today I visited the herd late in the afternoon. They were all grazing peacefully as thunder rumbled in the dark clouds just over the hills. The five calves were asleep in the tall grass, three of them snuggled up with the bull. I stayed to pull mesquite for awhile. When I mind my own business, the calves get curious and come investigate, wondering what I am up to.
Suddenly, I noticed that all the cows had stopped grazing and were looking in the same direction. As I turned to look, I could see several neighbor dogs playing and hunting mice along the edge of the field. They were not bothering the herd, but the herd was completely aware of them in that quiet, focused way. Quiet like air after a thunderclap–loud with electric intensity. Slowly the four cows in the front–Mycha, Melody, Dalwhinney, and Candela–moved together until they were standing shoulder to shoulder in a straight line facing the dogs, their big bodies gathered in a collective forcefield of, “You shall not pass.” The rest of the cows were moving to back them up. The bull had risen out of the grass and all the calves were paying attention. Standing in the midst of the herd, feeling that incredible group communication and cooperation–wordless, but completely clear, even to me–always brings with it a flood of emotion. So powerful. Eventually the dogs moved off, as all necks swiveled to watch them go; no more aggression than was necessary, but the message was clear.
As Charlie said to me: A little silent appreciation for the mystery we are part of.
