Tiny Calf: A Cow Behind the Statistics

We are now over half way through calving. While the rate of calves being born has slowed down- and so there is less time spent on first feeds and navel dipping and recording births- there is still plenty to do with over a 100 calves to feed and care for. The milking cows are grazing by day, and the grass is growing.

March also brought our tb tests- a whole herd skin test, and a adult cow blood test. We are still waiting the results of the blood test, but the skin test has been read, and once again we have lost cows.

In spring 2019 I came home from a weekend's skiing trip to be told that our first calf had been born- to a cow who wasn't due for another month. The calf was alive, but very small, and there was a chance that she wouldn't survive.

The photo above is of her at a day old, nestled in a bed of straw, her head barely the length of my hand. She was dark red in colour, with a white star and a few white patches, and we were determined that she would make it.

She was "the tiny calf"- which became her name, Tiny Calf, and at first she couldn't drink from a teat. She was tube fed colostrum and then milk, and by the time the first at-term calf was born, Tiny Calf was venturing beyond her pen with her new friend.

The second calf was named Pepsi by the schoolchildren who participate in FarmerTime sessions with Freddie, and she was noticeably bigger than Tiny Calf.

Tiny Calf's earliest friend was our dog, who is a Patterdale crossed with a Jack Russell. When Tiny Calf stepped outside she could look him in the eye. He liked to try and lick her feet, earning himself a warning swish of her tail and stamp of her tiny hoof.

Tiny Calf didn't let her difficult start hold her back. She grew to catch up with the other heifers in her group, meeting the weight targets set. She got in calf, and after two years of grazing, escaping from fields (and into gardens), and standing out with her russet coat and white star, Tiny Calf had her very own tiny calf this spring.

And then she was one of the reactors.

Losing any animal is hard, especially when you've raised them from birth. Tiny Calf's loss isn't any bigger or more significant than any of the other cows, not in real terms. However, her story made her very special, and so her loss is harder to take.

Tiny Calf- a name which seemed rather odd once she was an adult- had her whole life ahead of her. She would have grown up alongside the other heifers she'd known since birth. Together they would have found their places within the herd hierarchy, and matured into adult cows. They would have learnt the map of tracks which covers the farm, worked out the entry and exit gates to the paddocks, and discovered the best parts of each paddock to graze.

Together they would have watched their daughters, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters enter the herd, and follow the same journey as their own. Tiny Calf would have been there to lead a new heifer into the parlour for the first time, to clean a calf when its mother wasn't interested, and to leap and dance out of the shed on the first day of turnout.

We would have seen her grow up, watch her glow red in the summer sunset, and seen the steam rise from her on a cold morning.

Tuberculosis cut Tiny Calf's life to a close, and there was absolutely nothing that we or anyone else can do. There's no option to treat a cow with tuberculosis, to try a novel drug. They are taken from the farm and subject to compulsory slaughter.

There are people reading this who won't think Tiny Calf was anything great- just another grazing rat from a spring block calving herd. Its true that she was of indeterminate breeding and had no pedigree. She would never have been sent in front of a classifier for inspection. She would never have won a certificate in a herd competition, or been washed and powdered for a show. No-one would have asked to buy her embryos. I don't have any records of her milk production or quality, and we'd have to sift through old records to even trace her father.

In 2020 11,175 cows were slaughtered in Wales because they were tuberculosis positive. Tiny Calf will now become a number on a spreadsheet, a statistic reproduced in press releases and news articles whenever tb is mentioned.

She was also an individual cow, with a story and a personality. She had friends in her heifer group who'd spent every day of their life with her. And now she's gone.

Some of you reading this will question what we could have done to stop Tiny Calf catching tuberculosis in the first place. Our farm is under Enhanced Measures; we skin test the whole herd every 60 days and the test is read under a severe interpretation, which means that the risk of false negative results is lower- there should be fewer infected animals missed, spreading disease in the herd. All Inconclusive Reactors are subject to additional blood testing, and we undertake periodical whole herd blood testing.

While the cows graze for most of the year, when they are housed they are in a wildlife proofed shed, and we only feed grass silage and some cake in the parlour- nothing that attracts wildlife. At grass the water troughs are drained and cleaned between each grazing, which reduces the risk of infection from contaminated water (as cows tend to spit a bit when they drink).

Our cows don't have any direct contact with neighbouring herds, and the heifers are fed at grass from a feeder which can be driven into the field and then removed immediately after they have finished eating.

We also work with our vets and an assigned case vet to identify infected cows (through the compulsory testing scheme), reduce the risk of cow-cow transmission, and to reduce the risk of cow-wildlife and wildlife- cow transmission.

Tiny Calf was born and died prematurely. I feel lucky to have helped her at the start of her life, and have been there to see her enter the milking herd. She was the sort of heifer who elicited comments from professionals visiting the farm, and although she wasn't particularly friendly, she would sometimes consent to a pat on the nose, or to walk up behind you and offer a lick.

I'm sharing Tiny Calf's story because she deserves to be known, but also because it is so easy to see statistics and to forget that each number was once a living, breathing animal, who was loved and cared for and valued, and might even have had a story like our ruby red cow.

Tuberculosis is part of our farming life, it dictates the decisions we make and the options we have, and we will likely have to navigate it for the foreseeable future. At times it has put the viability of our business at risk, and we live precariously close to the edge. There are other farmers who have already lost their whole herds to the disease- as I wrote about for Farmers Guardian at the beginning of the year.

The sad truth is that Tiny Calf won't be the last cow we lose to tuberculosis. The last blood test will likely take more, as will the next skin test and the one after. Some of these cows will have names and stories and social groups that we can immediately identify. Others will be the quiet cows who blend in with the herd, receiving a pat on their udder in the parlour, but never really making themselves known.

Rest in peace Tiny Calf, we won't forget you.