I think I would be considered a "gentleman farmer," though I am neither a gentleman nor a farmer, but that's the conventional term for people like me—a few chickens here, a few cows there (and there and there, when they get out).
But I digress.
Farming or ranching (and I do know the difference) does not come naturally to me. Just ask my wife and kids. But at least I try, and actually get it right sometimes.
I don't do it for a living, unless you call eating a living: On any given day I will be eating the fruit of my labour, though technically it would be called the "protein" of my labour. This comes in the form of eggs, chickens, turkeys, beef, as well as produce from a huge garden
I am a city boy, born and bred, yet for these past sixteen years, plus five years in 100 Mile House a couple of decades ago, I have been a country man, more or less. In 100 Mile House, I just lived on ten acres, whereas here in Southern Alberta, I have learned to utilize all thirty acres.
There are rules when it comes to producing and reproducing, even if the humans sometimes don't seem to get it straight. So, when it comes to cows producing calves, it still takes a bull and a cow.
I know there is something called artificial insemination, but that stuff still comes from a bull.
In my meagre enterprise, I don't have enough cows to justify owning a bull, so I need to borrow one when the need arises—and it arises every summer. Kidnapping a bull is out of the question, of course, because it is a crime; it is also fraught with logistical issues. I would have no idea how to entice a bull into my stock trailer—I just don't think saying "here, bully, bully" would work.
The other plausible option is borrowing a bull from an area rancher. Most ranchers are loathed to loan out their bull for any number of sound reasons--liability being one of them, the well-being of the animal being another.
Fortunately, I have a friend who was willing to lend out his bull to us last year. I had two cows to "service," though one was probably too young and too small to make it work.
I was right and she never caught, but the other one did. She produced another beautiful calf on a recent Monday. Like any newborn's parents—though technically that would be the present cow and the absent bull-- we have had a little "excitement" these past few days with our new heifer.
While there aren't the same demands that a newborn human baby would present, there are others. On the one hand, there are no nursing issues or crying spells throughout the night But on the other hand, human newborns don't need to be tagged within the first few days, don't crawl under barbed wire fences, or seemingly get lost in the high grass.
Our first challenge was catching then restraining the calf, keeping the big momma at bay till the minute-long procedure is over, then watching behind one's back until the pair have moved away in a different direction.
Another challenge was the feistiness of the calf, even within twenty-four hours. We had already chased her, as she ran away from us (see "tagging" above), running through barbed wire fences, or not running at all, just laying low enough in the grass so we could hardly find her.
In fact, she lay so low that even her momma couldn't find her last night, and bellowed enough to wake up the dead. It took a while for us to find her. We were all relieved when we did: I don't know how much more of the Big Momma's noise we could handle.
At least with acres and acres all around us, we wouldn't be bothering our neighbouring ranchers. They have their own racket to worry about.
Cigars anyone?
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