Too many cooks spoil the stew.

I am not frozen stiff, but that is not saying I might have been, thanks to the decision made by a heifer, or God. Who decides when a calf is to hit the ground? Sure as heck, not me! The temp being 17 degrees and on an evening that should be for a feller to hunker down with a good old unread newspaper and a cup of fresh coffee, I was notified that developing catastrophe was occurring in the south OB pasture. I sat real still, closed my eyes and tried to imagine this was a dream. Nope, I was awake!

When big things are afoot, a feller does not inquire as to whom this developing situation should be attributed or why. I arrived at the location of the said problem with pullers, OB gloves and lube. I was pretty disgusted already, but when I read the number on that heifer's ear tag, I was really pretty over-disgusted and almost teeth-gritting angry.

Both of the male offspring were available and had the light bar set up so we could see what to do, and it looked like we were needing to do something. Sure enough, only one foot was making an appearance and it was dry. I put on the glove over the layers of clothing on my arm and made the exploratory exam. The birth was pretty much impossible due to the fact the head was turned back and the second front leg was way under the calf's body. I stopped trying and called my trusty veterinarian.

We, the offspring and myself, sat in my pickup with the heater on high as we waited. I said nothing and they didn't even breathe loud. That heifer was the last female in a line that came from my old string when my close relative and I said our promises. My Pappy bought a cow for my wedding gift and she was a top deal, the best we had ever had. Pap had need of a cow like that himself, but he gifted me and told me to work hard and raise the best I could.

The calf was dead on delivery and the heifer was not getting up. She had struggled for at least seven hours and was sure worn out. I sent the offspring home and took a bale of hay and a tub of water to the heifer. She might be up when the sun rises in the morning and she is gonna need a long drink. I prayed for the bovine.

The hot shower revived the blood flow to my feet, and I was sure thankful for an electric blanket. The night might be short but I am old and I needed to sleep at least a few hours. The rest revived me and I was up with the sun this morning.

It is my opinion, and everyone has one, too many cooks spoil the stew.

Sure, we need to hurry up, hurry up the delivery date of calves, give them another week of growth to gain those wonderful pounds that make us enough money to buy groceries. But, think about what you are doing. The dead heifer and calf might have died even if she had been bred to calve in June. Or, maybe she would have been checked at the last bit of daylight in March and found needing assistance. Who knows that answer and it is mute now anyway. I know who did the AI service and saw the records for expected delivery dates.

We are gonna do some things differently around here! God bless us all and summer is coming.

Bill is the pen name used by the Gravette-area author of this weekly column. Opinions expressed are those of the author.

Editorial on 02/14/2018