The day was December 10th,
2012. The trees still had icicles hanging down from their branches from the
dreadful cold front that had just blown through the night before. I went out to
check on all the cows that were soon close to calving. I scanned the pen full
of expectant mothers, their bellies round and heavy with the weight of their
baby calves growing inside of them. They were all content, chewing their cud.
Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. I folded my arms and laid them over
the frosted red gate, my chin resting on my arms. Some of the cows walked over
and nudged my hands until I would finally succumb to scratching their furry
heads. “You’re going to have the prettiest baby, aren’t ya, girl?” I said as I
stroked their foreheads. I turned to leave the calving pen when I noticed a
small figure coming out from behind one of the mother cows. The small figure’s
weak legs stumbled as it took each new step. The sight made me stop in my
tracks, a newborn baby calf! I scurried over the frosted gate, into the pen and
made my way to the new life that looked to have just been welcomed into the
world, its hair still damp from birth. I reached out my hand to the tiny calf.
Her mother, Maggie, hovered over her, and watched my every move to make sure
her calf was not harmed. The calf stumbled as she took a step closer to me,
nudging me with her cold nose. She was all black except for some white on her
legs and a white patch in the middle of her forehead. Her dark brown eyes
reflecting the snow covered ground. It was then when I noticed that something
was definitely wrong. Mistletoe, my new baby calf that was found to have been
born with a heart condition, changed my life forever and led me to pursue a
career in agriculture.
Sickness and disease are some of the hardest things to
watch an animal go through. In only that short time, I had already formed an
unbreakable bond with the fragile, newborn calf. Mistletoe was getting weaker.
She was not eating, and her temperature was at a high of 105. I could see the
agony in her dark brown eyes as I sat in the warm, straw filled calf hutch with
her head on my lap, her breathing heavy with every rise and fall of her chest.
My dad knew it was something he could not treat, and he called the vet right
away. Fred Bennett, our vet, jumped in his truck and made it to our farm in
less than 20 minutes, which is usually a 40 minute drive. I was still sitting
there with Mistletoe when he walked up to the calf hutch in his navy blue
overalls. He could see I was on the verge of tears. Dr. Bennett gave my
shoulder a firm squeeze and helped as my dad and I lifted Mistletoe onto her
feet. I stood there with my arms around her to make sure she would not fall
back down. Fred later determined that mistletoe had a weak spot on her heart,
an ulcer, and would need to have surgery as soon as possible. Mistletoe was only a day old, and she had
already spent the night at the local vet clinic. Our vet had IV fluids going
through her during the whole night so that she would not dehydrate before we
could drive her down to The Ohio State Vet Clinic in Columbus.
Early the next morning, Dr. Bennett called my
dad to explain the surgery and how much it would cost. Standing in the kitchen,
waiting impatiently for my dad to get off the phone, my heart was racing, my
legs shaking beneath me, “How is she, Dad?” I asked. My voice was shaky and
low. “She made it through the night,” he said. “But now you need to make a
decision. It will cost about $1,500 for the surgery.” I felt my heart sink. I
looked at my dad and I knew I had to do it. I knew that I would hate myself
later if I did not take the chance to save her, no matter the cost.
Mistletoe
opened my eyes to what it really meant to be a farmer. I was her caretaker, and
I was not going to give up on her. With my decision made, my dad gave me a
smile of understanding. We hooked up our silver Duramax to our cattle trailer,
picked up Mistletoe from the vet clinic, and were on our way to the big city of
Columbus, Ohio, stopping periodically throughout the drive to make sure she was
okay. We arrived at the vet clinic around 11 o’clock in the morning. The
temperature still did not exceed 34 degrees. A group of vet students crowded
around as my dad backed the trailer up to the big garage doors of the clinic.
Swinging the trailer door open, I heard the vet students say in unison, “Awe!
She’s so cute.” This brought a smile to my face to know that my baby calf could
also have the same impact on them as she did me. I helped walk Mistletoe into
her own little pen they had made for her. It was warm and dry with fresh,
bright straw. I knew she would be taken care of here. The vet who would be
doing the surgery on Mistletoe called me into his office. He showed me the
x-rays and what they would have to do to fix the issue. As I was standing
there, I felt a tear roll down my cold cheek. I could leave the vet clinic that
day with the chance of never seeing her again. The vet walked around his desk
and gave me a tight hug. “I will do everything in my power to make sure you see
her again” he said as he patted my back. Looking into his calming eyes, I felt
a sense of peace as I got ready to leave. My dad and I shook his hand and
thanked him as we walked out of his office. I stopped by Mistletoe’s pen one
last time. She already had the vet students wrapped around her finger, petting
her and giving her attention. I rubbed her head and said with a choky voice,
“I’ll be back in a couple days to bring you home, babe. I promise.” Walking
away from her to get into our truck to go home was one of the hardest things I
have ever had to do. That day, I learned more about myself than I ever had in
the 14 years before that. Every day after that, the vet would call and give me
an update on how mistletoe was doing. She had made it through the surgery fine
and was doing great. I could go get her and bring her home tomorrow! I was
ecstatic. I would get to see my baby again! Again, my dad and I made the trek
to Columbus with our truck and cattle trailer, but this time, our trailer would
be carrying home a healthy, beautiful, energetic, silky black heifer calf named
Mistletoe. My dad barely had the truck in park at the clinic when I jumped out
and ran straight to her pen. Tears started flowing down my cheeks. These were
not sad tears, but tears of utmost happiness and joy. The vet students crowded
around as we loaded her up in the trailer, smiles beaming from ear to ear.
Mistletoe not only impacted my life, but all the students and clinic personnel
she came in contact with those few days.
Mistletoe
helped me to realize that I wanted to pursue a lifelong career in agriculture. Every
evening after Mistletoe came home, I walked down the gravel driveway into the
barns where the calf hutches were. As I made my way to the young cows, you
could hear Mistletoe bawling from the other end of the hutches, her neck
stretched out to see me. She pranced and danced anxiously until I walked over
to her and gave her attention. She had me wrapped around her finger and she
knew it. Standing there with my calf, a passion grew inside of my heart. I knew
my passion for cows as a young girl was only going to grow stronger as I began
to take on larger rules on the farm. I wanted to do what I love with what I
love for the rest of my life. Two years later, Mistletoe gave birth to a
beautiful heifer calf. My excitement rang through the barn when I announced the
newest arrival to the farm. She was all black except for a couple white patches
on her legs and a white spot on her forehead. They were identical. As I stood there watching Mistletoe hover over
her calf, the scar on her side from the surgery still visible, a tear rolled
down my cheek. Had I not have made that decision to save Mistletoe that cold
December day, I would never have been able to stand here and see the beautiful
sight of new life like this.
Mistletoe,
my baby calf that was found to have been born with a heart condition, truly changed
my life forever and led me to pursue a career in agriculture. I found my
calling the day I was able to save Mistletoe and watch her grow up to be an
amazing cow that would live on for many more years to come. Paul Harvey once
said, “And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, ‘I
need a caretaker.’ So God made a farmer”. I am a firm believer
that if you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life. Farming
is not just a job, it’s a lifestyle and a way of life, and I am proud to be a
part of it.
