The Bush

Mother of a cow

While everyone else in my household was busy droving a mob of heifers almost 35 kilometres from one paddock to another last weekend, I was being Mother.  I was ferrying riders and relocating trucks, preparing food and delivering smoko.  Picking up Swiss visitors and providing a running commentary (that they nodded at and didn’t understand about 95% of)… you know: Being Mother!

Anyway, as we were driving along with eskies of food and flasks of hot water and goodies for the hard-working drovers, and as I was waxing lyrical about blue gum trees and such to my European passengers, I spotted Dad carrying a calf on his horse.

Now this is a rare sight here – an orphaned or sick calf in need of help.  Dad had spotted this little bull calf, just a day or so old, in the long grass with no sign of a Mama.  He seemed thirsty and ‘tucked up’ (where the flanks are drawn in) so Dad decided to intervene.  He loaded him onto the horse, in front of the saddle, and bellowed out as he rode along, hoping the mother might simply have ‘parked’ her baby while she grazed or watered.  I decided to help out as I watched him ride along behind the mob of heifers, with three very young ringers to also oversee.  So I parked and walked to the fence to take custody of the little black bovine.

Of course, it had been only nine days since this happened, so carrying a calf was probably a bit silly.  In my defence he wasn’t THAT heavy, and I have to say that as Ferdie filmed me carting the little bull from horse to ute, I just concentrated on not falling on my face.  We made it intact, and loaded the little man into the cargo section of the ute.

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Yes, I know little man.  Not the normal place for little bulls, amongst the tools…

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See his umbilical cord?  Just a wee lil’ baby…

I admit my heart sank a little as I carefully drove him home to the house.  I am not the world’s biggest fan of bottle-feeding poddies.  And then, I remembered…

We got somethin’ WAAAAY better than a bottle at our place.

We got this woman:

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Bay Lulic.

The Foster Mother of Granite Glen.  Do you remember her?  Seriously – she is amazing.  My heart lifted when I thought her name.

So I carefully unloaded our thirsty cargo… called out to our old dairy retiree, who is anyone’s for a bucket of pellets…

And pointed our little calf in the right general direction…

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He hesitated (this is NOT my mother) then, decided he actually quite liked the look of the enormous udder at nose level and threw caution to the wind

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And within seconds, one little black tail was flailing back and forth…

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In the time-honoured sign of a steadily-filling belly…

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And you will not be surprised to learn that this little bull has NOT let this one-eyed old girl OUT of his sight ever since…

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What a woman.

And I know she will not take offence if I say:

She has a heart as big as her udder…

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