‘Mama’ was no Jersey cow

When we sold our Oregon ranch and moved back home to California we planned not to bring even our favorite Jersey milk cow, Crystal, with us.

We offered her to a buyer for $250, a give-away price for a top-quality milk cow expecting a calf.

It was November and the pasture was gone. There was enough hay for a few days, but when we went back, Crissy was not being fed.

We fed her the hay, but the fellow didn’t buy more and she started to get thin. We bought more hay and decided not to leave Crissy there to starve.

We got her shots and veterinary clearance and brought her with us. In time she had a beautiful Jersey calf.

That was when I called the vet because she developed symptoms of milk fever, an ailment that sometimes strikes a heavy milking cow when she freshens.

Dr. Gray gave her a shot and she was fine.

Her next calf, we watched and everything was all right. Then we watched again the next calf.

Everything seemed fine when we looked at bedtime, but next morning it was too late.

We had an orphan bull calf.

“I might as well put him down right now,” husband George said, “We can’t raise him now without the milk.”

“I’ll be darned if you do. I’ll raise him,” I responded.

I dug out my calf bottle and nipples, bought bags of Suckle — a baby calf formula — and I became “Mama cow” to a little bull.

Whenever a calf starts to nurse, it butts the cow’s udder with its nose, sometimes hard enough to raise the cow’s hind feet off the floor.

The cow doesn’t seem to mind, but I wasn’t a cow and had more than one milk bath as the calf butted and yanked the nipple off.

They say milk baths are good for complexion, but no thanks.

As he grew, it was tremendously disconcerting to have him romp up behind me and raise me off my feet. We named him Butts.