Dogie Brahma calves are about the only thing I know that can kick my sons butt. We had a baby Brahma calf that was about three weeks old when tragedy struck and he was left all alone. The baby’s mama died in the field. We needed to save the poor little fellow. Calves weigh about 100 pounds at birth; I’m guessing this baby weighed about 125 pounds when he was orphaned. Motherless calves are called dogies. Brahma calf babies are a lot like deer. Due to their breeding, they have a wild side, are fleet footed, sleek, and surprisingly strong. This little orphan was also dejected, cold, hungry and understandably angry at losing his momma. He had three weeks of training from his wild mother. She taught him that good babies run or hide from any potential predators. Just like Bambi the deer, the meadow (our field) is dangerous and man is to be feared.
When my son went down the field to save the dogie, the calf had the instincts of a deer; hide, flee or fight.
My strapping son stands over 6 foot tall, and about 200 pounds and very fleet of foot. The muscles on his arms are bigger than my legs. He reminds me of the brawny guy, the lumberjack on the paper towels logo. And yes I am his mom, so there could be some bragging here, but he is tough. I don’t believe I’m exaggerating the brawny guy similarity. (I could be seeing this likeness from all the paper towel messes the guy has put me through over the years.) Regardless, the similarity of the two is there; picture Brawny and Bambi round one.
Bambi is 125 pounds of sinew and muscle and has the wild innate belief that my son was going to hurt him. This wild baby tried all his tricks, flee, hide and eventually fighting like a wild cat. After several hours, and many marathons around the field, my son eventually caught him, but not before several kicks to the knees, scuffed knuckles, a lost hat and shiner on his eye. Brawny sorta won and had the wildcat, oh hmnn calf tied to the four-wheeler and brought home.
Now all we have to do is feed him. With the calf secured in the barn, Mr. Brawny collapses in the chair. Brawny rests and prepares for round 10, while I prepare the milk.
The only trouble is now the calf has rested to, and earlier where I said he was scared and angry, he is now furious about being caught and confined. No place to run, no place to hide, and his predator sensor is off the charts, man has removed him from the meadow.
At this stage Bambi’s name gets changed. He is now Osama bin Laden. He is beyond wild; he is mean and similar to a terrorist. A terrorist who is after some much misguided revenge. We had him trapped in a 10 foot by 12 foot pen, (as all terrorists should be.) A miniature terrorist with anger issues galore and all of that misguided anger is directed at whoever comes remotely close to him.
Brawny thinks about going in for round 10 and decides he needs reinforcements. So he takes his younger brother and mother out. Brawny is armed with a rope a bottle of milk and a Fasselin wrestling team.
Round 1; wrestling with bin Laden. Brawny bosses me; his mom to keep him held in the corner and instructs his little brother to get the rope ready. Bin Laden is officially on a suicide mission. He plans on taking out as many people as possible on his way out. Brawny, little brother and I are determined to feed him, even though he is now intent on killing us all. Round and round the pen, bin Laden strikes each of us, we are all sitting in the dust, and the little maniac wipes us all out at least three times, plus spilling most of the milk. Finally, success! We have him roped and backed in a corner. It takes both Brawny and brother to hold down the kicking little beast. We force feed him what is left from the spilled milk. Relief! We won right! We had won for the time being, it was just a little daunting to think we had to feed him again in six hours.
Limping, bloodied and bruised we went back to the house to rest up for the next round. I would like to tell a different scenario for the next several rounds, but I can’t.
The calf’s name remained bin Laden for several weeks. It took him that long before he decided he wouldn’t try to kill us when we walked in the barn. Gradually he became friendly. Baby steps at first, don’t even try to enter his pen without a bottle of milk in front of you. Eventually he was even happy to see us. He even started to like us and after weeks of a team effort we could even enter one by one.
A couple of months went by the calf got tamer and bigger with each passing day. I changed his name again, he became Buttercup, we became such good friends he would bawl for me to come and see him in the barn as soon as he heard my truck pull into the driveway.
Life was good and back to normal on the farm and then, Buttercup got big enough to escape the barn and was allowed to roam freely, eating the grass and weeds surrounding the house.
Maybe we are too good of friends. Now when he hears my truck in the driveway, he comes running to me. The marathon days are back on. Only now the shoes on the other foot, I am terrified of him. Many days now I am trapped in the truck, waiting for Mr. Brawny to come out and save me.
Buttercup can’t wait for me to get out of the truck, hoping I will feed him. He is gigantic now. There is nothing like a 300 pound baby that wants to be fed right now!
Getting to the house in one piece is quite the adventure. As I sit trapped in the truck, I have lots of time to think. I think Buttercup has almost become a teenager in calf years. I ponder how to get him past the baby stage, and ways to out smart him. I have yet to learn, how to out run him.
I have learned a few things; I now strategically put on my running shoes at the top of the lane, before I even enter the driveway. And as I run from the truck to the house, trying to steer clear of this huge baby, I call him a lot of names and believe me they are not Buttercup! I think it’s time change his name again, I’m thinking Bambicup, and just how long will it take before you grow up?
Publisher’s Corner
"Jenni Fasselin"