Bog Myrtle & Peat

I’ve had twin heifer calves, and that sounds like an advantage. It’s two calves for the cost of one, and it’s fun that while the first came up black, the second’s a riggit. That’s a nice genetic curveball, but it’s not a wholly comfortable pairing. The black heifer is noticeably stronger than her sister, and she shines above the second-born in every way. In fact there was a considerable lag between the birthings, and no good reason to believe the cow had a second calf coming until it came. There was even some confusion when the riggit calf walked out from the nettles and began to butt for a teat; confusion to the tune of “where did that come from?”

It’s unusual for a galloway to have twins – I’ve never seen it happen before, though remember that I’ve hardly even started to make sense of this game and it would be a mistake to presume that any of the many things I haven’t seen are odd.

I went to look them yesterday and I couldn’t find the riggit calf. There was low cloud, and then a rush of painful rain which boiled the beeches and flung broom flowers into the grass. When I finally found her, she was shivering and humpit in the rushes. She reminded me of a programme I saw on the telly one time about cod and how the little ones grow a big head, even when their bodies are small. A big head allows you to eat bigger things and grow faster, but there’s a time when little cod are all head with a streamer of tail behind them. That was like this calf; just a sock with an orange in the toe. I didn’t like it, even if she had the mouth to suck.

Two calves is maybe better than one, but if that second calf becomes a liability then the advantage soon begins to crowd itself out with concern and extra care. I’ll do my best by the little second, but there’s an alarm bell ringing somewhere, and a needling worry that the cow might’ve been better doing a right job of one.