Our first calf of the year was out of a bull called Woodhill Gusto.  The calf, also being a bull, I dubbed Gus.  His mother has raised a couple of calves by now, and given the two she raised and the calf before me, I expected Gus to be a good one.

He was a thick rascal, had good, heavy bone, and his rear legs looked like springs still trying to uncoil.  He was particularly quiet, and his mother was particularly cautious.  I was particularly pleased.

“We had a calf this morning,” I told my father, as I hurriedly changed direction to get on with the rest of the work of the day.

“What was it?”

“A bull,” I said, keeping my expectations to myself.

My father, about to be 70, checked the group Gus was in the next day.

“That little shit is running and hopping now,” he said with a smile.  I partially acknowledged it.  Something new had no doubt come up, and I was once again in a hurry.

The next morning was my turn again, and I found Gus on a pile of cornstalks.  Secretly wanting to see the same performance Dad had, I went to get him up.  He was lethargic, as new calves can often be, and his mother wasn’t around.  Sometimes, when they become fully alert, they panic and take off in any direction, so I was content to let him be.

That evening, making the rounds, I found him in a different spot on the same pile, dead.  I had a veterinarian do a necropsy on the calf, and we found his abdomen pooled with blood.  On his liver was a two inch laceration, barely more than a scratch.

“I think this calf got stepped on,” was the pronouncement.

Spring was here.  New life brought into the same old one.

A few days later, with more calves on the ground, I came home to find a heifer needing help.  I had to pull the calf, a big, bulky thing.  While the mother had no trouble mothering him, he couldn’t seem to get the whole nursing thing figured out.

Twice a day I’d latch her in a headgate, get the calf’s mouth in the right vicinity, and wait.  An index finger in the corner of his mouth would try to entice him to get the party started.  If it didn’t work, you’d milk her out and try it with a bottle.

One morning you walk out and finding a standing calf and cow.  The cow has a teat that’s wet.  The calf is looking at you like, “What the hell are you doing here?”  And they are off and running.

This is spring, too.  From the old one, new life.  It’s no wonder they placed Easter here.