Throwback Essay

DD

I originally wrote this piece in the early spring of 2014.  Still as relevant today, and I still miss DD.

A couple weeks ago, I decided to go home for the weekend. After a long four hour drive, I waltzed into my farm’s office, happy to see my parents and siblings. As I was giving my mom a bear hug, I looked down on the desk and saw….a pink eartag. Number 777. Otherwise known as DD, one of my favorite cows. A good milk producer, a beautiful cow, and mother to several of my herd.

I lost it. You see, an eartag on the office desk means that that cow has died. More often, it’s yellow tags, the color of my parents’ herd. However, as my herd has aged, this is becoming more common for me too.Tears streaming down my 22-year-old face, I asked my mom what had happened to my cow. Looking just as sad I felt, my mom said that she thought it was probably bloody gut. The kind of thing that sneaks up on a cow and takes her down fast, no matter how close of watch you keep on your herd. Not knowing that DD was even sick, she hadn’t even been put into our hospital pen. She didn’t show any symptoms, and then it was too late.

I share this story because recently, I’ve heard several “accounts” of how farmers don’t care about their animals. I find this offensive, because let me tell you, a full-grown woman crying every time one of her cows dies is not exactly something I want everyone to know. I find it offensive that people who don’t know me, or my family dare to say that we don’t care about the animals on our farm. They don’t know that my dad can’t stand to put cows down, so has to call someone else every time we have a cow who can’t be cured of what ails her. Not because he can’t, but because the cows under his care mean so much to him that ending one’s life, even if it is the humane thing to do, is more than he can bear.

They don’t know the countless hours my mother has spent on her stomach, in the cold and muck, helping a first-calf heifer with her calving difficulties to ensure that both mother and baby come through safely. They don’t know about the time my brothers lost it on a couple of truck drivers who were beating our cows as they got on a truck to be beefed. Yes, the cows were leaving our care, but it doesn’t matter…our cows, from their first breath to their last, are treated with dignity and kindness. Anyone who acts otherwise is immediately fired, or if not in my family’s employ, but on our farm (such as those truck drivers) are told politely not to ever come back.

Yes, these cows are our livelihood. If not taken care of properly, my family’s business will suffer. But for us, and for many of our agricultural friends, we care for animals because we love them. It’s our lifestyle. From our first steps in the barn, we’ve known. Animal husbandry is in our blood. We want to ensure that the animals in our care have the best, because in turn these animals take care of our customers…you.

We want the best for you too. So please, next time that you hear someone say we farmers don’t care, send them my way. It’s possible they’ll encounter me giving my cow one last hug before it’s time to put her down because she has served my family well, but now it’s time for her to go. As they watch my tears, perhaps they’ll reconsider.