My Little Calf

Hello everyone,

Everything I have written about so far has been a life-changing experience in which I passionately invested my raw emotion and dedication. I reaped the invigorating rewards of newfound medical knowledge, understanding of human-animal interactions, or awareness of animal sentience. The electrifying feeling from gaining any of these rewards is, for lack of a better term, addicting. Even though I approach every veterinary or animal care task with passionate dedication, it sometimes takes several days before I am rewarded. This is why I have not written for the past week. I am finally ready to write again.

On Tuesday, a calf came into the clinic that was in critical condition. She had been born only 24 hours before—the umbilical cord was still attached. She was a month premature, which meant that she was skin and bones—much tinier than the typical newborn calf. She had chronic diarrhea and was so dehydrated that her eyes were completely sunken into her skull. Her temperature was very low, because as a premature calf, she did not have the ability to regulate her body temperature. Her body was in shock due to the hypoglycemia. To top it all off, she was very scared of us.

Janelle performed a fecal float, but did not see any parasites, so we suspected that the diarrhea was caused by a nutritional deficiency. The calf probably was too weak to stand when it was born, so it could not reach its mother’s teat for milk. The other possibility is that since the cow was a first-time mother, her colostrum (milk rich with antibodies and nutrients needed by the newborn calf) did not come in for several hours. By then, the calf was probably too weak to reach the teat.

It was imperative that we get fluids into this calf immediately. Dr. Rogers inserted a catheter into the calf’s ear. After he gave Cortisone to help with the shock, we attached the fluid line to the catheter to administer IV fluids. We used Sabax Maintelyte With Glucose 5%, which would provide the calf with electrolytes and the glucose needed to reverse the hypoglycemia. We also administered fluids subcutaneously using Lactated Ringers (also full of electrolytes). Because the calf’s temperature was so low, we heated the bags of fluid before we administered them. We surrounded the calf with blankets, hot water bottles, and heated sandbags to attempt to raise her temperature. Dr. Rogers was confident that with a little bit of time, this calf would make it. Luckily, the farmer brought her to the clinic in time.

Dr. Rogers delegated the care of this little calf to Victoria and I. We were very excited for a project. We monitored the calf’s temperature, urination, defecation, and energy levels. We changed her cage when it was dirty and we changed the fluid bags when they ran empty. Unfortunately, this little calf was scared of us and became upset if we took her out of her cage.

Eventually, the farmer came back with some milk to give the cow. She was able to stand briefly to talk the bottle and drank at least a liter. However, this caused her to have terrible diarrhea an hour later. Dr. Rogers decided that until her diarrhea improves, we should feed her very little. We would feed her every two hours, alternating 500 ml of full cream milk with 500 ml of electrolytes. By the end of the day, our little calf was acting a bit more energetic and was readily taking the bottle, even though she could barely stand and we had to support her during each feeding. I could not wait to come back the next day to see if she had improved.

The next morning, she was lethargic again. The catheter had stopped working in the middle of the night, so she had not received fluids for several hours. We fixed the catheter and gave her the first feeding of the day. After she had time to rest a little bit longer, I went back into the room with her cage, sat in front of her door, and talked to her. This little calf had stolen my heart. I was sure that she was lonely because she was away from her mother, so I wanted to keep her company. After a while, she actually came towards me! I cautiously opened the cage and pet her. She actually seemed to like it. I opened the cage a bit more and she came forward. She sniffed me all over—my hair, my shirt, my hands, my face—and made contented little grunts. Eventually I had to leave to tend to another animal, but I kept stopping by the calf’s cage throughout the day to give her some company. Throughout the day, her eyes slowly came back, her energy improved, and she could stand for longer periods.

By the next day, she had improved even more! She was able to walk on her own and eagerly came out of her cage to greet me. She still walked quite slowly and unsteadily, but as Victoria and I exercised her throughout the day, she became a bit steadier. Wherever we walked, she would try her best to stay as close to us as possible. When we thought she was getting tired, we would put her back in her cage and take turns sitting inside with her, stroking her and talking to her. We kept her company constantly; babies are not meant to be alone. The fact that babies need comfort is independent of species.

We moved her outside in the courtyard when it was warm enough. To our surprise, she was scared of the grass! She stayed velcrowed to our sides. We sat there with her for several hours. We got into a wonderful little routine: we would feed her, she would hop around excitedly from the influx of energy, and she would become tired and take a nap on our laps. When she would wake up, she would just stand next to us, contently sniffing us while we stroked her, until her next feeding. She would give me kisses by gently sucking on my face and my nose. If I walked to the other side of the courtyard, she would enthusiastically, albeit slowly, follow me to the other side, nudging my leg for assurance that she had done a good job.

This was the first time I had nursed a baby animal, and I found that it was incredibly satisfying. I loved this little calf. I loved her so, so much. She thought we were her mothers. She wagged her tail when we called to her and she never wanted us to leave her side. If, for some reason, we needed to leave her in a cage for a bit, she would moo loudly and forlornly until we returned to her. She needed love in order to recover from her condition, and we were ready to give it to her. It was the first time I had experienced what motherhood might be like—being near a newborn every moment of the day, feeding her every two hours, and cleaning her when she was covered with diarrhea. I felt a selfless sort of love that only a caretaker can feel for a dependent. I cannot wait to feel this feeling again, when I have my own children some day.

Yesterday, our little calf went home. It was very sad for Victoria and I, who had dedicated the last few days to taking care of her. When the farmer asked us if we had named her, we told him that her name was Annabelle, after the calf in Annabelle’s Wish, an American children’s movie. In this movie, a little brown calf named Annabelle dreams of being a reindeer with Santa’s sleigh. Her caretaker, a little boy, was left mute after a raging fire. For Christmas, Annabelle selflessly wishes that her little boy could talk again in exchange for her own voice. Santa grants her wish—Annabelle is muted forever. Annabelle grows older, and one Christmas Eve, goes off to a field to die alone. Santa shows up just in time and turns her into a beautiful, young reindeer. She joins his team and is finally rewarded for her life of selflessness and love.

Both Victoria and I were thinking the same thing when we began caring for this little calf. I suggested the name hesitantly, and then Victoria immediately agreed. The movie had touched both of us when we were younger. Of course, we had to keep this name a secret. It was against the unofficial “rules” to name farm animals or strays, because then you can become attached to them. We were already attached to this little calf; resisting naming her was futile. We kept this name secret from the Provet staff until one morning, Dr. Rogers asked us if we had a name for the calf. This was a big surprise to us. We immediately said “Annabelle” in unison.

I miss our little Annabelle. I want to stroke her, to breathe her in, to hear her little contented sounds. I want to see her little tail wag when we feed her milk. I have thus decided that one day, I will hand-raise a calf myself. Jack: be prepared to have a cow in your backyard.

Sincerely,

Aria