We lost a cow

No, it didn’t run away. It died. 

Last night when I was driving home from work, I got a rambling voicemail for dad that I couldn’t understand. When I got to the driveway, I met the vet leaving. 

Never a good sign. 

Last week one of our cows got stuck in the concrete bunks that we feed them in. She was a little scraped up, but we have been watching her and she seemed fine. On Sunday, I even commented how good she looked. 

Yesterday was a completely different story. When dad and Bethany were feeding hay, they noticed she was ‘off’. So they brought her to the lot and called the vet, who checked her up and down, to find nothing wrong at all. But she look terrible, head down, white gums, and blank eyes. The vet gave her a couple of shots and she perked up enough to eat some grain and drink.

When I got home, I joined the crowd watching her eat. She was drinking and eating as if nothing was wrong. Granted, she didn’t look near as good as she did on Sunday. 

This morning, I got up early to feed her grain again and give her more water. I walked outside to a stunning sunrise.


Only to walk to the lot and find her dead. She hadn’t even touched the hay we had given her. And that sucks. 


Not only do we now have a dead cow and a vet bill with no returns, but we lost a member of our herd. Her great-grandmother’s name was May and she was part of the original herd we bought. Her grandmother was our first white calf, April. I’ll never forget the excitement of seeing her for the first time. Her mother added more white to our herd. This cow, while she didn’t have a name, had a habit of losing ear tags every year. 

When I got back to the house, the sun has set the sky on fire. Just God’s way of showing the beauty of a rough morning. 


Farming isn’t always beautiful. Farming is hard. Farming is rough. And sometimes, farming just plain sucks. There are hard times, rough times and times I just want to give up.

But, even through the highs and lows, farming is full of passion. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. 



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