The trauma of saying goodbye forever to our first cows is over – the image and soundtrack of the heavy metal truck door closing behind them like a death-row prison door will no doubt haunt me forever. The whole process has been smoothed over because of the arrival of our new cows. It still feels strange to see unknown alien cows running around where minutes before there were six large black cows whom we knew well — but at least there was no gap between having cows. No eerie moo-less paddocks to haunt my conscience about the forthcoming fate of the first lot. For someone who has always been passionate about issues like animal cruelty, anti-vivisection etc… I can tell you that the thought of being involved in sending cows off potentially to slaughter, or even to live export to the Middle East (it could happen, depending on who buys at the auction) just seeps dark guilt into my heart and conscience. I reconcile it by seeing our involvement as a sort of calf fostering role. We raise them and give them the resources and time that we can for a limited period, but cannot be ultimately responsible for their future fate. We have all become accustomed to meat bought in sterile polystyrene plastic wrapped trays. It is a sobering and valuable reality check to really understand that a steak once had a personality.

Anyway, I’ll blow away the philosophical cloud of guilty conscience floating around me tonight and focus on the new task at hand – settling the new cows in. They are of course, extremely cute. For not the first (or last) time, I am again in love with our newest companions – destined again to be heartbroken in future, but committed nevertheless to giving out maximum love to the hoofed ones, ‘cos that’s what we do.

This day old calf we adopted is just about plugging the leaking hole in my heart arising from selling our first cows off like commodities.

This is Balti.

From hand feeding him via a bottle for the first few days, to teaching him (using a wrestling-like technique and much sucking of fingers and biting of teeth) to drink from his first bucket, I find myself completely in love with the little fella.

Which is not the way to feel at all….

After being so closely involved with his first few days of life and being recognised by him as ‘mum’, with all the relevant communicative moos becoming an understood language between us, there is an inherent problem. Balti’s intended fate is a little bit closer to home than our big cows, in terms of our freezer compartment. That’s right, Balti is supposed to end up as home grown beef.

I really don’t know if I can handle that though. I know I have a year or so to get used to the idea….but I really really have grave doubts about whether his fate will be something I can stomach (in more ways than one). For now he is my wobbly legged comedic wee pal.

Well, it was inevitable.

warning- lame comment alert:
We used to sing Puff the Magic dragon in primary school (who didn’t) and you know that sad bit in the ‘Puff the Magic dragon’ song when Jackie Paper stops visiting Puff and Puff cries and crawls into his cave… you realise (or at least I did) that life isn’t all about eternally happy animals or eternally young people. Well, I’m still having these realisations as an adult but surprisingly not via naff songs but real experience.

This week we are selling our cows to market. We will be getting more calves straight away, so there will be new tails swishing in the paddock, but I’m anticipating that saying goodbye to our first six is going to be a bit of an ordeal. They get picked up on Tuesday. Cows are amazing animals – you get attached to their habits, personalities and long eyelashes. We only named the little one (Sanjeev) and now I’m pretty glad about that.