06/10/2026
It’s been a week, y’all.
Calving season is always a whirlwind — extra chores, extra checks, and multiple nights of little sleep before the first contraction even starts. Because 90% of calvings are textbook. But that 10%? That 10% is why you’re out there at 2am with a flashlight.
This week was one of those.
She wasn’t contracting right. My mind immediately went to uterine torsion — one of the scariest words in bovine obstetrics. After two hours of watching and waiting, we made the call to go in and check positioning. Baby was fine. But what followed was four of us working that calf out, and me flat on my back in the mud pulling with everything I had.
No one cares about their shoes in that moment.
The sack broke during delivery, so we had a calf with fluid in his lungs — d***y, low energy, wouldn’t get up to nurse. But strong and hungry enough for a bottle of colostrum. You do what you have to do.
Then came the milk fever.
For those unfamiliar: milk fever (hypocalcemia) is a metabolic condition that hits dairy cows hard in the fresh period — usually within 72 hours of calving. When a cow’s body diverts calcium into colostrum production faster than it can pull from her bones and diet, her blood calcium crashes. The symptoms are scary: lethargy, wobbly legs, not eating, eventually going down and not getting back up. Left untreated, it can be fatal.
We caught early signs and tried oral calcium paste first. But this morning she was wobbly and lethargic — classic signs it wasn’t enough. Time for an IV.
1,200 pounds of suspicious cow. Not exactly a willing patient. But we got it done, and the bounce-back from calcium IV is genuinely remarkable. Within hours, different animal.
She also got antibiotics (we assisted during delivery — that always warrants a shot) and Lutalyse as a precaution against metritis.
Here’s what’s on my mind though.
We got through this because of knowledge built over years, a vet who trusts us and answers on weekends (shoutout to Dr. Singer — genuinely irreplaceable), and friends in Wisconsin I can call at odd hours who’ve seen it all.
But what about the farmer down the road who doesn’t have that?
Large animal vet access in rural America is a genuine crisis. You can barely get one on the phone, let alone out to your farm. And in situations like this — where hours matter — farmers are left calling each other, posting in Facebook groups, and doing the best they can.
It’s farmers helping farmers. And that’s both beautiful and a little heartbreaking.
If you’re navigating livestock health and feel like you’re out there alone — you’re not. Ask questions. Build relationships with other farmers. Find your Dr. Singer. And never stop learning, because that knowledge will save lives.
Baby is up. Mama is eating. We’re all tired, hot 🥵 and grateful. 🐄