Never Cut a Cow’s Horns on the Full Moon
Our new cow is here - Rose finally has a companion after losing her calf, Ruth. Rose was alone for 6 weeks after Ruth died, mooing at us incessantly because she was lonely. She wasn’t hungry or even too bothered by all the summer flies — she just wanted companionship. Heathar and I were anxious to JUST GET AN ANIMAL IN WITH HER so she would stop mooing at us, but we knew it had to be the right kind of animal. We debated for months as to what kind of animal we should get to be a companion to Rose. How about a goat? (Too destructive) What about a miniature cow? (Too bougie and expensive — MY GOD do you know how much a miniature cow costs?!) What about New Mexican Churro sheep? Our neighbor had some he was practically giving away. (Too much shearing that we don’t know how to do) What about a donkey? (For some reason, Heathar feels about donkeys the way many people feel about clowns — they creep her out. It is something about the nose on donkeys.) What about a guard dog? (Too complicated with our own dog Alice who is highly aggressive.) Eventually, all of this elimination led us right back to: The Avenue of Cow. Getting another cow seemed to be the answer to our riddle.
After we decided on getting another cow, we had to actually FIND a cow that would fit our needs and wants. Meaning, we needed to find another A2A2 Jersey cow since we seem to be in the business of providing raw milk to our community. Sometimes, a purpose just sneaks up on you. Sometimes you find yourself elbow deep in cow udders when you thought you would be elbow deep in 1200 count Egyptian Cotton sheets somewhere on a private island in the Caribbean.
We searched through a lot of mediocre cows that we turned down (I’m not judging the cows — it’s not their fault). After getting Rose from a farm where she was not taken care of, we wanted to get our next cow from A Proper Farm — a place where she was loved and given lots of pets. We have enough rescue animals on our property — some that have been with us for 13 years and have to go everywhere we go because no dog sitter will ever agree to watching them. (I’m not naming any names but you know who you are, ALICE.)
When we finally found Laura (I know, her name is Laura and I wanted to change it but she seems to respond to it and like it) — we knew she was meant to be ours. Laura is an A2A2 Jersey who is 7 months pregnant. Laura came to us from a farm in Boulder, Colorado and was very well-loved by her farmer friends there. She wasn’t missing any hair, she wasn’t showing too many ribs and was good at standing still and letting humans milk her. We also knew that we wanted to get a cow who didn’t have to spend a lot of time acclimating to living at 7,400 feet and harsh winters. Laura seemed to be our gal.
The day Laura arrived (no, Heathar and I did not go pick her up — we have our very own beloved farm hand to do that for us and no I will never tell you his name because he is ours and I am not sharing him — just know that he is an Ojo Conejo Angel and he will remain our Anonymous Angel) we saw how pregnant she actually was. I have lovingly named her: SCHOOL BUS MOMMY because she is so rotund. Heathar and I are beyond delighted at how large she is (and she still has 2 months to go!). Rose was never that big, she was never that pregnant and definitely gave birth to a premature calf. So, we welcome the cow who looks like an orange standing on 4 toothpicks. Bring it.
Laura quickly made herself the Cow Queen of the barnyard. Rose had no choice but to become the submissive of the two. (I mean, I would also submit to someone with horns) Even if Laura didn’t have horns, I think Rose would be the submissive cow. Cows (like most animals) like to establish a hierarchical order. It is not a democracy but a dictatorship in the Cow Kingdom and Laura rules all. Rose is our sensitive, quiet and somewhat anxious cow. When Laura head butts Rose, telling her to back off, Rose will come running over to Heathar and I for consolation. We will pet her and soothe her until she is ready to go back out and face her new friend. We have diagnosed Rose with an anxious attachment disorder and will treat her accordingly. She is not the only one around here who is working on her attachment system.
Everyone who sees Laura is surprised to see her horns. They can look ominous and dangerous with their pointy tips, not what you would think of when you think of a dairy cow. We have heard horror stories about cows with horns but my most favorite story came to us from a farmer friend in Texas who told us to cut off her horns with a sharp pair of tree loppers. He advised us to do the cutting on a New Moon because farmers in Texas swear the cows bleed less on a New Moon. On the Full Moon, if you cut a cow’s horns off with a pair of tree loppers, the blood will come rushing out — shooting and spraying all over your fields. Even old school ranchers are still impacted by and acknowledge the pull of the moon, the tides of the lunar flow. Even they are stumped and humbled by the mysteries of our solar system. Even they shake their heads and remain speechless when they notice the patterns of animals that cannot be suppressed or denied when left to live within the cycles of the natural world. Needless to say, we will not be chopping off Laura’s horns with tree loppers any time soon. The New Moon just passed.
We have had Laura for almost a month now and most mornings, when Heathar goes down to feed the cows breakfast, Laura and Rose are laying side by side in the barn chewing their cud together. This is progress. When cows chew their cud, they are relaxed. Apparently it takes cows about a month to integrate together and to become real friends. Animals move slowly. This is something that continues to be validated over and over again on our farm. Our baby chickens (who are now four months old) took 4 weeks to learn how to properly roost in the chicken coop at night. This means that every night for a month, I would go out into the chicken coop and place the 14 new chickens on the roosting bars one by one, helping them balance so that they can sleep like real, adult chickens. Animals move slowly. They need time to make transitions. This is helpful for me to remember as a human who likes to rush through transitions.
This morning at breakfast, Heathar read to me from The Family Cow by Joann Grohman — a small farm and homestead Cow Bible. She turned to the chapter on calving so that we can be prepared for the birth of the calf who is supposed to come in early October. The book says, “In general your cow will calve a little later than you expect, unless she calves suddenly a little early.” Wonderful. Thank you Joann. Basically, be prepared for anything. You know nothing. This is what farming teaches us over and over — nothing is predictable, everything must be learned as it comes and every time, it will come differently.
Heathar and I went to Santa Fe yesterday to accept our Local Hero Award from Edible Magazine. We were honored along with dozens of other farmers and food magicians in the New Mexico area for people making a significant contribution to their local food communities. I walked away from that event thinking — farmers are insane. We are all insane and also, it may be THE more important job in the world. The Earth has requested our help for caring for her in exchange for delicious food. The Earth says — Maybe, if I make food delicious enough, these humans will care about growing things and processing animals in ways that help the Earth. She fooled us all. She fooled us with salt and butter and cream. She lured us in with food so that we would promise to take care of the Earth and so that we would forget about the amount of psychical labor it requires to make the food delicious and the Earth able to grow and hold the delicious food. She made food irresistible so that we would continue lifting, digging, rotating, pruning, growing and planting. Her requests are physical, they are tangible and they are of the body: Body for Body.
Heathar and I watched a caterpillar implant itself on one of our tomato plants this week. A few days later, we saw a massive Monarch butterfly flapping its way through our fuchsia Zinnias, bright yellow Marigolds and pink Nasturtiums. This morning, we said out loud to the butterfly, “This is all for you.” You give us beauty (and pollination) and we will work for you. We will do it for you. We will do it for the Earth. We will keep the Zinnias coming. We will keep the opening buds blooming. Bring your friends and we will feed them too. So much of life is about continuing to feed everything.
This land we live on in Ojo Sarco, has not had life like this in many years. Our peach tree is dying from the lack of bees and pollination happening in this area. The land is dry, the soil is parched and the butterflies have not been here. Now we have one. We have one butterfly. This summer I have planted over 20 new varieties of plants and flowers on our land (I’m not done yet). We are feeding the hummingbirds and the Baltimore Orioles are here. There are new colors emerging and new grasses growing. The butterfly is our bait to keep going — the reward of beauty. Body for Body.
