Where there’s livestock there’s dead stock…

An unfortunate reality of farming is that sometimes we lose stock. There are various videos and articles floating around the internet which portray this phenomenon in a less than tasteful or transparent way. Obviously there are various animal rights groups who have a barrow to push claiming that farmers torture and ‘murder’ their animals, subjecting them to pain and fear as yet unappreciated by the general populace, and that it’s their job to name and shame the perpetrators. As a farmer, I’m not about to stand up and defend every single other farmer on the planet’s practices. There are ‘cowboys’ out there who are, to say the least, unprofessional and cruel and if I ever saw somebody carrying out an act of abject cruelty to any animal, I’d report them myself and be damned by the consequences to me personally. But to make a broad and sweeping generalisation which tars all of us with that same brush is like saying that every doctor on the planet has deliberately or through negligence killed some of their patients; or that every accountant in the land has robbed their clients of their hard earned cash through weasely practices and loopholes, or that every single greenie is some smelly druggie hippy who dropped out of art school – it just isn’t true.

I get really down when I lose stock and I get really pissed off when I see ARA’s showing footage of practices that they have clearly either staged or taken completely out of context (in many instances); it feels like a personal attack on my abilities to care for my animals. A farming friend once told me, whilst I was in the throes of beating myself up over a dead cow, that “where there’s livestock, there’s dead stock”. While it didn’t make me feel any better (cheesy platitudes rarely do) it did make me think that he had a really good point.

I pride myself on my knowledge of cow health issues. Give me an examination glove, a stethoscope, a thermometer, and some urology strips and I can diagnose about 95% of any of the common ailments my cows will get, just as well as any vet. In some cases, better than a vet, but alas I am not trained, nor licenced to perform surgery if I diagnose an ailment which requires it and nor am I allowed to carry the anaesthetics I would require to do so. Obviously, in any animal health case, the first and preferable option is to prevent animals from getting sick in the first place; nutrition is a massive factor in dairy cattle as they are, despite being big and robust animals, quite fragile in the gastrointestinal department particularly just before and just after calving. Getting the feed right is absolutely critical. Ensuring they’re comfortable is also a biggie, and a massive challenge for outdoor farms like ours where cows are out on pasture 365 days per year, in some cases in quite extreme weather conditions. So what can we do then? Well, tree breaks offer shelter from the elements in both summer and winter, so we ensure we have them in every paddock. Our cows also have to walk a lot, so for us, winter is a massive challenge when the weather is wet as the fine particles on the compacted laneways get washed out, exposing the gravel underneath. Cows who have wet feet all the time get soft hooves, so when the little rocks on the laneways get exposed, it hurts their feet when they walk. Again, we don’t want ‘footsore’ animals so we go out of our way to soften the laneways. Some people use river sand, some use bark chip or peelings and we personally roll out tonnes and tonnes of hay for them to walk on, all by hand I might add, which adds a huge amount of work to an already long day, just to provide a bit of creature comfort to our animals. And we aren’t the only ones who do this either. No dairy farmer that I have ever met wants to see their cattle wincing their way up the laneway to their paddock on sore feet; it’s like making a person take off their shoes and walk across a hard surface littered with broken glass. Painful for them, and painful to watch.

Anyway, getting a little off topic there, so I’ll carry on with my original thread; deadstock.

This morning was my midweek morning off. Since I am currently working 15 hours per day, 7 days a week, I feel I’m entitled to catch up on some rest from time to time, so don’t judge me. Three days ago, I had a cow come in for milking who was, as we say in the business, “off her milk” (that is to say, a normally good milker will come in with, well, little or no milk). Cows can go ‘off their milk’ for any number of reasons including something as benign as being on heat for example, but generally it’s something fairly major; a massive pyometra (uterine infection) or urinary tract infection for example, or it could be mycotoxin poisoning from a water damaged batch of grain, or they may have picked up a dose of pneumonia or salmonella, or any other of a host of nasties that we sometimes get outbreaks of due to a bad load of hay, some nasty weather or some other extraneous factor.

Needless to say, despite being fairly confident in my diagnosis of my crook cow, I called the vet in to do an examination. He diagnosed her as having a, probably viral, urinary tract infection and a slight cold and told me to stop treating her with antibiotics as she was clearly fighting the infection off herself and the antibiotic I was using would be of no further benefit. I was less than convinced by his diagnosis as a whole and carried on with her treatment as I was sure that there was something else going on as well.

The following day, a second cow came in with exactly the same symptoms. I put her on treatment immediately. So two days ago I had two sick cows in my hospital paddock. This morning, whilst enjoying my second leisurely cup of coffee, I received a phone call from my relief milker telling me I had two dead cows in my hospital paddock.

With a sick feeling in my chest, I immediately rang the vet and asked him to come out and do a necropsy (you may well think that’s like closing the stable door after the horse has already bolted, but sometimes it’s necessary to prevent further losses). I rang my boss to tell him what was going on, then went down to oversee the proceedings. The results: one case of pneumonia and one case of salmonella. Was I treating the animals with the appropriate drugs? Yes. Could I have prevented them from getting sick? No. Can I prevent any other animals from picking up these bugs? No. Nothing I do will stop my cows from getting sick with these diseases. Yes, you can vaccinate for salmonella, but which strain should we pick to vaccinate against as there are literally hundreds of strains which are constantly mutating? And if I treat them, are they not responding to that treatment because the strain I am trying to fight is resistant to that particular drug? So many doubts and fears creep in at this point – the sinking feeling in your gut when you see another cow come in with similar symptoms – can I save this one? CAN I do something better/differently?

If you’ve never worked with stock and you feel that we are negligent or cruel to our animals because you watched a video on YouTube once, remember this; No real farmer would want to see their animals stressed in such a way that it affected yield or quality of the end product, be it meat, milk or wool. No real farmer can justify losing animals through negligence because they are how we make money, at the very least, and the vast majority, amongst whom I definitely count myself, don’t want to see their animals suffer in any way. Bear in mind that most livestock farmers live in fairly isolated places. Our stock are, much of the time, our only company for days or weeks at a time. Every time we lose an animal, it’s personal. And every time a new ARA video comes out, it’s personal too, even if it’s not depicting us personally.

And remember also; animals, like people, sometimes just die for no immediately apparent reason. So like my friend told me: Where there’s livestock, there’s dead stock.

Glorious mud …

Mud.

It’s an abstract concept to the average town dweller. You might think you know what it is. It’s something you remember playing in as a kid in your parents backyard. Maybe you like hooning about in it in your 4×4 on the weekend. Perhaps you went camping once, and it rained and you got some on your hiking boots on the way back down the walking trail to your car. I know. I’m making great sweeping generalisations presuming what you do and don’t know about. You may even feel slightly indignant. Believe me, it’s not intended that way, and I’ll explain why.

An hour ago, I surfaced from a nap. I say a nap, but it was more just something I did for the pleasure of being recumbent somewhere warm, dark and relatively quiet to process my thoughts and concerns for the day. On emerging, I made a coffee and went outside to sit on the front porch and soak up the early afternoon rays of thin winter sunshine. I even rolled up my pants legs to let the sun and the soft breeze caress my skin. It was a wondrous moment; I felt almost euphoric sitting there with my coffee and my cigarette, basking in the warmth of the day. This morning seemed like a distant memory.

‘So how is this relevant?’ I hear you ask. I’m getting to that. You know how when you’re fit and healthy and you can’t quite remember what pain feels like? Or when you’re in pain, and you can’t remember what it’s like NOT to have pain? Well, mud is a bit like that. When you’re sloshing through it at 4 am in the driving wind and rain and it’s seeping inside your wet weather gear, you think you’ll never be warm and dry again; in fact, you can’t even remember what that feels like. And likewise, sitting out there on the front porch this afternoon, I almost forgot that when I get back to the dairy this afternoon, the mud’ll be there waiting for me, just like it was this morning. And this mud isn’t just wet dirt either. Imagine a thin soup of 9 months of powdered cow manure, pollen, dust, dead insects, soil and all manner of other detritus that’s effectively been buzzed up in a blender then left to sit somewhere for a couple of weeks to ferment. THAT’s the mud I’m talking about. Sticky, wet, malodourous mud. Not a very appetising thought is it?

And the mud and the moment on the porch this afternoon made me think: the little things in life – a hot shower, a gentle breeze, the smell of fresh laundry on a warm day, of freshly brewed coffee, a phone call from a friend you haven’t seen in ages, of just a single, simple moment of silence in your day is so precious, you should stop for just that moment, close your eyes and savour it for all it’s worth. Because, later today, or maybe tomorrow or even next week it’ll just be another abstract concept that you just can’t quite remember. Take the time to enjoy those precious little things, because ultimately THAT is what life is all about.

T’is the season….

Yup. It’s that time of the year. The time to get all of our lovely cows back in calf so that they can carry on being productive members of the herd for another lactation after they finish this one. Some of you may not understand why we have to breed our cows…I worked with a milker once, who despite having worked in the industry for TEN YEARS , didn’t know that cows had to give birth before they could start lactating….I found this rather worrying and asked him whether he knew any women who started leaking milk everywhere without having a baby first? That seemed to clear up his confusion, but at the time I thought to myself ‘if a guy who’s been milking cows for 10 years doesn’t know this, what about the average layperson’?

So basically here is how it works: we try to get our heifers (young females who haven’t had a calf yet) in calf when they are about 15 months old. That may seem a tad young to many of you, but young females can reach sexual maturity as young as 4-6 months, and you really don’t want a bull rampaging about the place at that point. There is such a thing as too young and too small. So the aim is to have them coming into the dairy when they hit about 2 years old. Getting the nutrition right for these little ladies is absolutely crucial as they are still growing throughout their pregnancy as well as growing their calf – so they need a high energy and high protein diet to ensure they get the size they need before they give birth. We aim to have them at about 85% of the bodyweight of a mature cow, ie a cow who has finished growing (we generally look at 3rd lactation cows for this figure). Depending on the breed and general size of your cows, that varies enormously, but our mature cows weigh about 650kg, so we want our heifers to come in at about 550 kg….with me so far? The reason we want them at this size is the same reason we don’t want any bulls getting in with our young stock – calving ease. Ideally, you want your heifers, and cows, to calve on their own, without any assistance as the more interference from us, the higher the chance of post calving infections and infertility as well as the stress it causes the animal which interferes with how well they milk.

Next, once they have had their calf we give them what is known in the industry as a ‘voluntary waiting period’ which is a period of time between when they calve and when they get pregnant again. Dairy farmers are often accused of keeping cows pregnant all the time, and how cruel it is…let’s just say that in a herd of wild animals, the females are impregnated as soon as they reach sexual maturity and male animals certainly don’t give cycling females a break just because they’ve recently given birth…so we are actually pretty civilized by comparison!

Anyhoo, there are two ways we can get our cows pregnant: by running bulls with the herd, or by artificial insemination (AI for short) or, in many cases, a combination of the two. Most farmers, and that very definitely includes moi, prefer AI to bulls. Bulls have a certain…shall we say reputation. They are big, heavy, noisy (they don’t moo nicely like a cow….they roar) and potentially dangerous animals. And not just to us. I’ve seen a bull jump a 7 foot tall steel rail in a yard, get stuck half way over and then bounce on the rail until is was bent low enough to climb over…I’ve seen another big boy tip a slightly smaller bull (only weighing about 1000kg) backwards over a fence with a flick of his head because he was feeling irritable….Not only are bulls destructive and dangerous, they can injure the smaller cows, or even the bigger cows if they don’t have secure footing. They can also spread STI’s. And the obvious OH&S problems they raise for staff working with them cannot be stated loudly enough. Having said that, they can pick a cow that’s on heat waaaay better than we can. So they do have some advantages.

So, on to AI. With AI we can select bulls from anywhere in the world. We have charts which in Australia we called ABV’s (Australian Breeding Values) which can tell us a whole host of information about what traits that bull can bring to our herd: milk production levels, stature, udder strength, teat placement, foot and leg conformation… the list goes on. Every country has it’s own version of our ABV’s – it’s just a matter of learning to decipher what it all means. So basically we have a huge advantage: we can select 30 different bulls to perfectly suit all of our individual cows in the herd if we so choose without having to have a single bull on farm. Also, all the bulls that go into AI are screened for diseases – another massive advantage. The only downside. especially if you live a long way from anywhere, is that to perform AI, you need a trained technician. Anyone can go and get the training they need to become and AI tech, but not everyone will become a good or even competent technician. You need loads of practice for a start, and who wants you practicing on their cows when a missed heat can cost the farmer up to $140 per cow? You also need a lot of patience, a good eye for heat detection (which involves understanding cow behaviours and physiology) and be willing to potentially stand around for hour upon hour watching cows go by on a carousel. Which is where I come in.

My view for the next 2 months

My view for the next 2 months

For us, right now, it’s AI season. For the next 2 months I will not have a day off. I will spend an average 5 hours per night standing on a hard platform watching cows bums go past on the off chance I’ll see a cow cycling. I dream of cows at night. But I’m not complaining. I’m making the cows more comfortable and safe not having bulls in the herd. I’m bringing new, young blood into our herd for the next generation of milking cows so that they may live longer and more comfortable lives. I’m choosing to give freshly calved cows a rest before they have to do it all again. I’m in control and I’m loving it. We’ll still run bulls later in the season. But I will have done the vast majority of their job for them. Bulls who are less excited do less damage – to everything and everyone, except maybe each other (like most males they like to scuffle and puff their chests out to see who the bigger man is). So all in all, it’s a good time of year. Certainly the weather could be nicer, but that’s just how it is right now.

T’is the season.

A shaky start…

967

Hello all, and welcome to my very first blog post!

Let me give you a quick rundown of my life so far – I currently live in Australia, but I was born in the UK in the early eighties…I spent my formative years there on my parents pig farm where I passed my days curled up under the heat lamps with the piglets while my parents were working, eating the weaner pellets and just generally getting myself into trouble.

At aged five my parents decided to leave the rocky shores of England, and head to Sweden. Northern Sweden in fact, to a little town called Norrfjärden where they had bought themselves a small (by today’s standards) dairy farm. It was a farm of about 80 milking cows, and the cows lived indoors all year round on account of the metres of winter snow, followed by metres of autumn and spring permafrost which prevented grass growth for all bar about 6-8 weeks of the year. Silage and hay cutting season was pure madness (the grass could grow an inch in 24 hours due to the midnight sun) which involved cutting and baling for anywhere up to 60 hours at a stretch before falling exhausted into bed for a four hour nap, before getting up to do it all again until the job was done. This was a community endeavour, with local farmers sharing equipment and labour to complete this onerous but essential task. I learned a lot about camaraderie and community spirit in those days, and have always hoped to find a place where I can emulate it. After three years of backbreaking, soul destroying labour, a recession and a change in government, my parents threw in the towel – and my dad made me promise that I would never stray into the world of dairy farming…

Onwards we ploughed, this time to the sunny island of Malta in the Mediterranean, where, for some unknown reason my parents decided we should live on a small sailing boat. I’m certainly not complaining – what more could an eight year old dream of? Ten years we lived aboard our little sailing boat, and the first few years we sailed all over the Med – from Sicily and Italy, to Greece, Tunisia, Sardinia, Corsica and a host of small Islands like Lampedusa and Pantelleria which many will never have even heard of. Again, I took valuable lessons from these times – about trust, family, personal responsibility and the importance of personal space, which I still adhere to to this day. Getting too heavy for you yet? Apologies, I shall move on…

At age seventeen, I graduated from High School. Strangely I always enjoyed science and art the most (not very compatible I know) but I had selected the hard sciences as my 3 A level subjects – Chemistry, Biology and Pure and Applied Mathematics. I had aced them all, but what next? Feeling lost and depressed, I decided to venture overseas for a year to make up my mind – and found myself on a kibbutz in Israel, and where else should I wind up but working on the Kibbutz dairy? I recall my first morning of work as vividly as if it were yesterday – 3.30 am, heavy fog and me blearily stumbling up the road until I crested the hill overlooking the farm and the smells and sounds met me head on. It was an epiphany, that moment; I had come home.

All of the myriad winding paths I have taken since that moment have inexorably led me to this point. I am a passionate dairy (share) farmer in one of the drier regions of South Australia (how I came here is another story!) on a 5000 acre non-irrigated farm milking 450 cows at peak. I also have a passion for art and photography, reading and a host of other endeavors….so hopefully you can find something in my posts to entertain and inform you – because boy do I have some tales to tell!