Page 21 of A Groom for Lauren
“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll have to think about that.”
The rest of the afternoon flew by. The women stayed to visit, and some had brought knitting, sewing and embroidery to pass the time as they chatted. Lauren felt flush with excitement. Jonah hadn’t wanted to entertain often, but she’d always enjoyed the company of others. She didn’t realize how much she missed it.
By the time the women left, she felt so much better than before. Esther had been thoroughly spoiled and cossetted, and thus, when she changed her nappy for the last time and fed her, she dropped off to sleep soon after.
As Lauren lay down, thinking about the success of the day, she regretted only one thing.
Dr. Spaulding hadn’t come to see her today.
Chapter Eight
Christopher smashed his fist against the wall of the stall, the coarse wood scraping his knuckles. He was too late to save the cow, but there was a chance he could save the calf.
He was called to Widow Bank’s farm in the early evening hours because her cow was having trouble delivering and wouldn’t get up from its side. It had been nearly twenty-four hours and the calf still hadn’t appeared.
Inserting his hand, he felt for the umbilical cord. There was a faint pulse.
“We don’t have much time.”
He walked around the large animal and placed his stethoscope against the animal’s neck to listen to its pulse. It was weak and starting to fade. “Do you know when she went into labor?”
“Think it was yesterday,” one of the farmhands chimed in. He was a grizzled as Widow Banks.
Christopher nodded. “I need you to get your shotgun. We are going to have to euthanize the dam and I’m going to cut the calf out.”
“What?” Widow Banks was mortified.
“Ma’am, your cow isn’t going to live much longer. There is still a pulse going to the calf, which means it is alive. It can’t get out of the birth canal and its momma doesn’t have the strength to push it.” He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I can either save the calf, or you can lose both of them.”
Widow Banks nodded and the man left, headed towards the house. “Poor Bossy,” she said, smacking her gums.
Christopher put on a leather apron and pulled out his surgical instruments which were wrapped tightly in muslin. He had been taught to do it in medical school, so it carried over to his animal practice. Pulling out a small bottle of alcohol, he drenched the muslin and then unwrapped each instrument.
He figured he would have approximately two minutes to remove the cow and break the sac. The man returned with a single-shot rifle. Knowing the cow would panic once she spied the firearm, Christopher placed a blanket over its eyes.
“You want to do it right here.” He pointed to an area just in front of the ear. “It will be an instant kill; she won’t feel any pain.” Euthanasia was a horrible part of his job, but it was necessary for some instances.
The smell of sulfur filled the air, and the deed was done. Christopher worked quickly to free the calf from its mother’s belly. Cutting through layers of muscle and fat, he spied the water sac and was careful not to nick it. Once the opening was large enough, he reached in and pulled the calf out in a slick puddle of fluid and blood.
“I need to get the sack off its nose,” he said, tossing his instruments back on the muslin. Using his fingers, he broke the sack around the calf’s face and ran his fingers through its mouth. The calf didn’t respond. “I need some towels. Quickly!”
Widow Banks ran to the side of the barn and returned with a handful of dirty rags. Christopher started cleaning the calf, rubbing vigorously to help the circulation.
“It’s not breathing.”
“Move back,” Christopher said. “I’m going to try something.” He recalled his friend shaking calves like doctors did babies when they didn’t cry after birth. Picking the calf up by the hind legs, he gave it two good shakes before placing it down on the ground. Fluid expelled from its lungs and a high-pitched bawl filled the air. Christopher sighed in relief. “Looks like you have a heifer calf.”
He looked over his shoulder at the tiny woman, he saw a single tear on her papery thin cheek. She must be nearly seventy years old. How she lived so long was remarkable. Once again, though, he felt sick to his stomach that he couldn’t save her cow.
“Looks like a fine strong calf,” she said as they watched the calf stand on wobbly legs.
“I’m sorry about Bossy,” he said softly. The cow was the widow’s only source of income.
And now it was gone.
Widow Banks shook her head, and then patted him on the back of his shoulder. “Dr. Spaulding, you did the very best you could. No one worked as hard as you to try to save old Bossy.” The bovine provided her with milk which she could use to make butter and cheese. She could sell those products in town. To produce, milk, however, the cow needed to calve. Christopher let her know that the cow was too old to consider breeding, but Widow Banks insisted that this would be the last time and that she would raise a calf to take Bossy’s place. “At least I have this baby now.”
“Since you don’t have any other cows, I need to find a cow to nurse her,” he told her as he stepped away from the dead cow. Hay mixed with red and other fluids from the ruptured sac and afterbirth. “I can take the calf over to the Taylors. They are just up the road and have a nursing mother right now.”
