Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Peter writes: Not all farm stories have happy endings. They may, at first, seem to, as was the case with Daisy, our poor young cow, whose harrowing birthing experience was recounted in a May bulletin last year. For some time I have felt I should tell the full story, but I like happy endings as well as the next person, and like most people, I prefer to hide my failures. But a recent inquiry from a friend as to how Daisy was doing prodded me into revealing directly to at least one person that poor Daisy is dead and has been since August. I think you last heard of Daisy as she managed to regain enough strength to get up and rejoin the herd grazing on pasture. The last image I left you with was of her snuggled up against her mother, who had her head protectively draped over her. I felt they had resumed a relationship that seemed to have ended with weaning. Now all of this concern for a cow’s welfare may seem sentimental, if not maudlin, to some. But Daisy, of all the herd (a very friendly bunch) was special. Since she had suffered health problems ever since she was a calf, she received a lot of individual attention from us. During her first summer, delivering the medication she needed for a leg condition required my full bag of tricks, sidling up to her to jab in the syringe . I rubbed her down daily with organic Fly Off to keep her free of flies. And slipped her apples when the rest of the herd wasn’t watching. Daisy had reciprocated to all of these attentions by goofily nodding her lowered head back and forth, rolling her eyes, and extending her huge tongue to give me a big juicy lick. The Daisy who returned to the herd after her traumatic birthing experience was bone thin, almost emaciated, but we had hope. I sensed, however, that Elaine Tucker, our vet, was unusually guarded in her prognosis. As much as we wanted to see improvement, we had to acknowledge after a time that although Daisy continued to graze along with the herd, she remained pitifully thin and forlorn. The leg problems that had plagued her as a calf returned. Once again, she began to separate from the herd. Finding her missing, I would, after a search, discover her hidden amongst the bushes along the edge of the pasture, and drive her back up the hill to rejoin the herd. Then one day, I was not surprised when she seemed to disappear completely from the property. Only after an intensive search did Mark and I find her standing forlornly in the most remote area of the woodlands near the wetland preserve. In fits and starts, we managed to coax her through the woods almost to the edge of the pasture, where she stopped and stubbornly refused to go any further. And this is where she chose to stay. Unable to do anything more for her, we decided to wait until morning to see if there was any improvement. But from this point on, her deterioration was rapid.. The next morning I arrived to find she had barely moved from where I had left her, even though there was nothing for her there to graze on. I had carried with me some hay and a bucket of water for her. And as if grateful to have not been forgotten, she gave me a fulsome lick, but not accompanied by her usual goofy head bobbing. The lick seemed all she could manage. She was appreciative of the water but not the hay and could barely walk without staggering.. At one point, to our consternation, Daisy began to stagger around in circles. Not long after, we found her on her side, unable to get up. It was obvious that she would never get up again. My fear was that she would end up being eaten alive by coyotes, and so I once again called the vet. There was a thick silence in the growing darkness as Elaine and I found our way to Daisy. Neither of us relished what was coming next, and so there was none of our usual bantering. I knelt down and stroked Daisy behind the ears to calm her, as Elaine opened her bag and prepared the syringe. After the injection, I continued to stroke Daisy behind the ears in an attempt to give her some comfort in her final moments. But there was no real change, no sign that the injection was taking effect. A second one was required. Then, as I resumed gently stroking her, I could feel the life quickly draining out of her. The movement from life to death was so swift, so palpable. I can feel it still. Daisy slowly let out a long exhalation, and it was finished. Next day, Daisy was buried in the spot she had chosen. —Peter Davies
