The Calf Barn

The calves getting some extra food in the calf barn

I walked out to the calf barn today after several weeks away. Now usually that wouldn't be an accomplishment, but since I got my leg injured by a particularly defensive cow while vaccinating her calf, even this short walk is something to write home about. The calf barn is about 2,000 square feet, a pretty typical old barn that smells like aged oak and horses. It’s filled with dry bedding for the calves to snuggle up out of the wind, rain, snow, and keeps the cows, who would otherwise steal this space for themselves, out.

The first calf I walk by, number 32, doesn't even bother to stand.  I remember finding her at 2 am, huddled and shivering in a snow drift and only a few minutes old. It was lucky I found her in time that a hot water bath was enough to pull her out of hypothermia. It took 3 weeks of bottles, plus her moms milk, to get her strong enough to rejoin the herd. She’s often a nuisance, always in my way when I’m in a hurry. Even still, the reminder of a life saved is worth the hassle.

I thread through the sleeping calves, careful not to wake them. But the infamous number 5 spots me and jumps straight into the air. He’s in such a hurry to get away that he stumbles over his front feet, doing a somersault and spending a few seconds in a dazed pile before running off again, a little more cautiously this time. 

Now alert and wary I may be trying to trap them in the barn, the calves edge towards the exit. They’re led by number 12, my favorite calf. He’s a hunk; the cow equivalent of The Rock. I can't wait to use him as our next herd sire, fathering the next generation of Pole Creek cattle. I stand perfectly still hoping to stop them leaving. The calves, naturally curious, begin to inch back towards me. They thrust their necks out slowly as their curling tongues reach out to touch me, I suppose to see if I taste dangerous. 

My healing knee is aching from the cold, so I shift my weight slightly to the other leg. This tiny movement is like a gunshot at a footrace, the entire group of 50 calves shoot out of the barn at top speed, led by the infamous number 5, now certain of my bad intentions. Though startled at first, soon the calves are each competing to lead the group, feeding off of each other's energy as they nearly collide, feint, and vault over each other with comically deep bellars. 

They act like a flock of birds, billowing, scattering, reforming, and billowing again. The cows are agitated by their sonorous bawls and come thundering across the field. They plunge into the group of calves, who swirl around them in small eddies, slowly locating their calves and splitting off from the herd. One by one they find a quiet corner of the pasture and begin earnestly licking their calves, checking for any damage I may have done to them. And the contented, smug little faces of the calves peer around their mothers, their eyes already narrowing lazily in the afternoon sun. The calf barn is always good for a pick-me-up, and I grin all the way home.

Riley is the President of the Western States Red Angus Association and Livestock Manager at Pole Creek Ranch. A 27 year veteran of the cattle industry, he is passionate about sustainable and ethical beef production and sharing his love for Red Angus cattle.

It’s Calving Season!

Calving season, January through March, is the most exciting time of the year. The quality of a calf crop can make or break a cattleman’s reputation as a herd manager. We only get one calf crop per year, and with one year of gestation and two till their first progeny, managing a cowherd is like steering a cruise liner, and many an operation has run aground from only a few years of poor mating choices. So the anticipation is palpable in January as the cows’ bellies begin to sag, their udders swell, and the heavily pregnant cows groan contentedly in the afternoon sun as they chew their cud.

Adding to the anticipation was our new bull, “Loveable” who will have his first crop of calves born this year. It wasn’t by accident that we selected him out of the 350 bulls on offer in a prestigious bull sale, but the result of weeks of research and hours of personal evaluation. Though Loveable is not classically handsome for a bovine, I think his calves will be exactly what we need in our program. But with genetics, really anything could happen. And if the match doesn't work, the herd and my reputation will fall behind.

Our fellow cattlemen and women are our peers, our competitors, and our customers. We all gather at the big events that stud the yearly cattle calendar, like the National Show in January, the 9 Mile bull sale in March, the State Fair in September, or Reno in November. The group acts like a Politburo of what “works” and what “doesn’t work.” Even if I may not always agree with their proclamations, it’s this group that collectively determines the value of your program. Sometimes going against the group opinion pays off. I raised a national champion out of this kind of pairing. But if it doesn't, your rival Todd gets to talk smack about you at the National Show in Denver, and Todd’s the worst!

So as the cows are getting closer to calving, I'm wondering; will I have to eat crow in front of Todd? Will lightning strike and produce a national champion? Will I get a whole crop of big bellied, wide hipped heifers as I planned? The first calf looks good, but the second is a runt, and barely survives. Not great odds. But the next five are big healthy calves, exactly what we want. Three weeks and thirty calves later and it’s safe to say that Loveable has made the cut. No little future national champions running around, but better results on the whole than I expected, and that's more than good enough.

Riley Avery,
Livestock Manager, Pole Creek Ranch

Riley is the President of the Northwest Red Angus Association and Livestock Manager at Pole Creek Ranch. As a 27 year veteran of the cattle industry, he is passionate about sustainable and ethical beef production.