Hurricane Bethany

Hurricane Bethany seeped peacefully into our home one year ago on May 14, and enveloped our hearts like a warm hug.  A happy, un-opinionated and quiet soul who made Grace, at that age, look like the offspring of some carnivorous prehistoric creature.  As we snuggled our tiny bundle of  joy in the daytime, and enjoyed a restful 8-10 hours of sleep from the time she was about 10 days old, we would often comment on our luck, and draw comparisons between our polar opposite girls.  In her best Mark My Words voice, my Mom would warn us  "I Bet there's going to come a time you're gonna wish you had baby Grace back", assuming that Beth would one day show a more colourful side to her mellow and sunny disposition.

Little did we know that the wispy baby sighs and adorable gurgles that we just couldn't help but smile at, were all warnings of Hurricane Bethany's pending eruption. It came on somewhat slowly, first the rolling over at the average 4 month mark (like all proud parents we assume that anything average our girls do instantly hurtles them into the Genius Category), next came the sitting up and crawling at 5.5 months and we were sure we had a child protege on our hands, at 7 months, when she stood up and looked us in the eye we were both amazed and disconcerted, but at 9 months when she began walking, we knew we were in trouble.  Almost as soon as she was walking, she was running, soon to follow suit was the climbing, then her giant little half feral personality exploded, and Jamie and I received a crash course in parenting the average Cave Baby.  Our Cave Baby loves to tease and has developed her once adorable little belly giggles into somewhat more of a cackle, which she often employs while retreating after she has bitten some unsuspecting prey (typically poor Grace) or blown raspberries in someones face.  She loves to climb in the cupboards and it is now standard practise that if something small enough for her to carry is missing it is likely on the Lazy Susan.  She loves to rearrange the book shelves in her own system of organised chaos on our Living Room Floor, and decorate the halls by grabbing the end of the toilet paper and running blindly through our tiny home.  Of course there is her veracious appetite for, well practically everything, if it fits in her mouth it will be in her mouth, even if it doesn't, it will be tasted, at least once.  It has become quite apparent that she is more then aware that her eating habits are unacceptable because she now puts tiny objects in her mouth, nonchalantly walks by one of us and waits until we notice, then explodes into a fit of cackling giggles and runs wildly in whatever direction she assumes freedom lies.  She has also taken to waking us at least once a night for snacktime.  Her escape is inevitable if a door is ajar and because our bathroom door doesn't latch properly, no one is capable of using it without her assistance.

The end of the day generally puts me, frazzled, rumpled and stained, both watching our tiny Prehistoric Humanoid pinging from one thing to the next and the clock, as we wait for the sometimes seemingly unattainable 8:00pm bedtime.  While there are countless days that both Jamie and I ponder the convenience of a "Parenting the Prehistoric Creature for Dummies" book, we frequently remind each other that it seems like only yesterday that our, now semi civilised, Grace too was leaving us with our minds reeling.  As we watch her growing and exploring, we are constantly reduced to fits of giggles by her endless antics, and can't help but revel in the contentment of having our hair ripped from our heads as she pulls us in for hundreds of slimy kisses or the precious few moments of stolen snuggles, because, for right now, prehistoric is just fine.

OUR GARDEN KNOME

Our girls are at two very different stages in their little worlds, having 4 years in age between them.  Grace had her kindergarten initiation last night, and spent the day planning her outfit and then having me style and curl her hair so she would look just right.  I can't help but realise some irony in this, because this is the same little girl, whom only moments prior to getting all gussied up to go, was digging in the mud in my riding ring and putting worms in a jar to keep for pets, which only added to my appreciation that she is a country girl through and through.

SOME BUNNY'S ABOUT TO SPLIT THEIR STUFFING
(GRACE IN BETHANY'S BUNNY COAT)

While Jamie has been working off of the farm, Grace and I have been playing Nurse Maid to yet another group of sick calves.  We finally had to enlist the help of our local vet and had him come out last Friday to examine those of our calves that are sick and take fecal and blood tests in hopes of finding out exactly what we are dealing with.  Our mortality rate due to illness has been higher in this past calf crop, which weighs heavily on our zest for this chosen lifestyle and of course our pocket book.  It seems as though we have two contributing factors to or problem, one being a typical virus common in calves and thankfully quite treatable, and also a deficiency of selenium causing a condition caused White Muscle.  White Muscle is a condition where traces of fat are woven in the heart of a calf lacking in selenium and ultimately cause it to weaken, the calf will eventually die due to heart failure.  It is not a new condition or one we are unfamiliar with, as years ago all calves received selenium injections at birth, however the mineral complex we feed our cows is supposed to provide adequate selenium and so we have not been injecting when our calves are born, unfortunately this does not seem to be doing the trick.  The immediate resulting treatment, after the vet left, then was to inject all new calves in the barn with 1cc of selenium as a preventative measure, which I volunteered to administer because Jamie was not home.  The thing to consider is that the calves I had to inject were completely healthy, vivacious, hearty, running, bucking, human evading, 150lb + calves that don't like to be poked, particularly not with a 2 inch needle.  So as I systematically launched myself at each of the eleven careening calves to be treated, grappled them in a bear hug, and occasionally somersaulted in the manure when I missed my target, that old adage about an ounce of prevention rang in my subconscious mind. 

We had two calves in particular requiring veterinarian assistance, both of which were sick enough to be unable to get up and had stopped nursing.  As I directed the vet to the first little calf, and explained to him the medication Jamie had administered both by injection and by way of a Stomach Tube, he informed me that he would be unable to save this particular calf and jumped quickly into the pen, I, still jabbering on about the calf, watched as the vet shoved the calves mother who was laying next to her baby to her feet, and realised that the reason the vet could not save this calf was not due to the illness, but because it's mother had accidentally layed on, and smothered it.  This apparently happens occasionally, but is not something that I have ever witnessed and while mortality is something you learn to accept in farming, I was a bit shell shocked as the vet asked where the other sick calf was.  The vet took samples from the other little calf and left me with some instructions for treatment and the promise to be back in touch in a few days with our results.  Unfortunately the next day the calf we tested began to decline and since Jamie was at work, it fell to me to insert my first ever Stomach Tube, which is a long hose attached to a harder tube on one end and what looks like an IV bag on the other, the tube is inserted in the calf's mouth and down the throat into the stomach,  in order to administer Electrolytes to prevent the calf from dehydrating.  The potential issue that needs to be considered, is the potential to accidentally insert the tube into the air way and consequently release the liquids into the lungs which would ultimately drown the calf.  I have often helped Jamie with this basic procedure, but have never done it on my own, and as I ran over the instructions in my mind, it occurred to me that nothing is ever as easy as it sounds and I prayed that I would not be the cause of this calves demise.  In the end, it went very well and I have repeated the procedure a few times in the last couple of days, with promising results for the calf, it appears that he may be alright, although he's not out of the woods yet.  The heartwarming side of this story is that, typically if a calf can't get up on it's own, it can not nurse, however, this particular calves mother would frequently stand over him and wait for him to position himself on his knees so he could nurse from her.  She has been unwaveringly patient both with us and the calf, and obviously resourceful, undoubtedly adding to his potential recovery by inhancing his hydration and nutrition.

PIXEL

SOME OF THE GALS FROM LAST SUMMER

RECIPE:

HOMEMADE MAC AND CHEESE

The perfect comfort food for a rainy day supper, served with a side of veggies we like to trick ourselves into believing it's the perfect balanced meal:-)

3 cups Elbow Macaroni
1/3 cup Butter
1/3 cup Flour
2 cups Milk
2 cups grated Cheddar
1/2 cup fresh grated Parmesan
1/4 tsp Salt

4 slices of Bread
2 tsp additional Butter

Cook Macaroni according to package directions, melt butter in sauce pan and add flour to create a rue, pour in milk and add salt, cook of medium to low heat until liquid thickens then add both cheese, stir until melted.  Once Macaroni is cooked, drain and mix in sauce, chop or put bread in Food Processor to create crumbs toss with melted butter and layer the top of the Mac and Cheese, brown in oven and enjoy!