The first calf makes an appearance and a machinery show leads to some spending at the farm on the M62

We had nearly 72 hours of torrential rain and bitterly cold winds leaving the land swamped and us utterly defeated. By the time Paul checked on the cow shed at first light, the calf was out and doing fine, albeit rather cold. She was quickly penned up with her mother behind a large stack of straw, well out of any icy blasts trying to find their way into the shed.

Thankfully she was up and suckling in no time, which is always a huge relief. Her mother gave us quite a bit of worry last year when her first born, a huge bull calf, simply couldn’t get out.

We’d given her plenty of time and tried to ease the calf out but it became apparent he wasn’t going to come the natural way.

Of course it was a Sunday night when we contacted the on-call vet, but we were left with no choice. A caesarean section on a cow is a fascinating procedure to watch. It never ceases to amaze me how relaxed and unaffected the cow seems whilst the vet makes a large incision in her side and then almost vanishes inside in search of the calf.

Even with the side door open, he didn’t come as easy as I expected. After what seemed like an eternity in the cold shed, sometime in the early hours of the morning, after much grunting and straining by the two vets, he eventually slid into the world, landing on a deep bed of clean straw. His mother continued nonchalantly chewing her cud whilst we struggled to lift the calf up over a gate, head downhill in an attempt to clear his lungs.

We all frantically rubbed him and slapped his steaming sides, willing him to take a breath. He finally got going, but it was quite some time before we dared leave him. He needed almost a week of assistance with standing and feeding. But in time, he grew into a big strong lad, affectionately known as Caesar.

Paul had a rare day off when he visited a machinery show with his good friend Simon, who he met whilst at college. He’d almost talked himself out of going, insisting there were too many jobs that needed seeing to, but I persuaded him otherwise and he headed off.

He phoned that evening on his way home to sheepishly tell me he’d bought something. I instantly regretted encouraging him to go, whilst wondering what on earth he’d gone and blown money on, money that we most definitely don’t have.

“Well, it was something I really needed and money was burning a hole in my pocket, so I just had to spend,” he said. I swallowed down my rage, hoping that whatever idiot purchase he’d made could be returned.

“Go on” I hissed, “spit it out.”

After much laughter he managed to get his words out: “Me lunch, I bought meself some lunch.”