Walter

The text seemed random – as they usually do when they come from this particular friend.

“Has your milk cow calved yet?”

My milk cow, Maija, is near and dear to my heart, both for her larger than life personality and the profit margin she contributes to the ranch, but neither of these aspects impact my friend.

And with all of the larger issues swirling around us right now – toilet paper, freezer space, a snow storm in the forecast – I didn’t understand why my friend would wonder about Maija.

“No,” I replied.

Then I offered my best guess: “But I have lots of frozen colostrum if you need some.”

My friend didn’t want colostrum.

“I have a cow with twins and no milk,” came the next text.

“I’ll buy one of the twins,” I replied. “I can be there this afternoon.”

This adventure would be a gamble.

By definition, a twin is small, with less resistance to the harsh realities of the world.

Calf milk replacer is expensive enough to erase any potential profit from the gamble.

Maija is notoriously unpredictable about her calving date and cranky about accepting a second offspring. Typically, asking Maija to raise a second calf means asking her to walk into the working chute morning and night every day for months so both calves have equal opportunity to fill their bellies.

But if I had a twin already on hand, maybe I could trick her.

I pulled a jug of colostrum from the freezer.

Then my daughter, Abby, our dog and I jumped in the ranch truck. We stopped by the co-op to grab a bag of calf milk replacer on our way.

I hoped Maija would calve that night, before Abby developed the intense bond of being a new mother.

The calf sat on the floorboard, between Abby’s legs.

His big, dark, doe-like eyes gazed at her adoringly.

Abby swooned.

I could tell because she started planning a name, a bed and his first meal.

As we drove down the gravel, we considered names.

Albert, Hank, Bill…Walter.

Walter he became.

Walter chugged his first bottle of milk that night in his new digs, the shearing pen full of fresh straw.

Abby held Walter in her lap and cooed.

Walter mooed.

I checked Maija for signs of impending birth.

Nothing.

The next day, Walter enjoyed breakfast, but wouldn’t eat lunch or supper.

By nightfall, he laid out flat on his side.

This was not a good sign.

Sometimes, newborns need help jumpstarting their digestion, especially small twins who had a rough start and then made up for it with lots of milk.

I found a narrow rubber tube I use for lambs that might shake things up without causing too much disruption.

Usually, I have vegetable oil at the barn so we can pour a little bit on the dog food as a treat, but cold weather was coming so the vegetable oil was at the house where it would not freeze.

I spotted Gatorade, left over from a baby with scours at some point.

The lamb tube and Gatorade went in; digested milk came out.

Walter took a few steps around the pen, then curled up and went to sleep.

The next morning, Walter was hungry again.

That night, he was still full.

We decided a regiment of half a bottle of milk offered three times a day might be better for Walter’s belly than a single, all-you-can-eat, buffet line.

Meanwhile, my Facebook post drew questions about how I might convince Maija to adopt Walter.

Brute force and determination, I posted.

And hopefully, some divine timing. If I can douse Walter with the same scent that the new calf has and I’m lucky enough that Maija has poor math skills, maybe she will think she has twins with different birthdays.

My fingers are crossed.

Walter and Abby prefer the status quo.

Walter loves Abby.

Abby loves Walter.

Maija still hasn’t calved.