Have a heart, or a cow

Many years ago we were watching a program about medical advances. They were discussing prosthetic limbs and other artificial body parts that were creating bionic people. Jack was having none of it.
"If I need one, give me one of those pig valves. Or even better, a cow valve!"

We laughed. Who had ever heard of a cow valve?

Fast forward to last fall.
Me: "You really need to see the cardiologist. They found concerns a couple of years ago and there hasn't been any follow-up."
Him: "I didn't like the last guy we saw."
Me: "There are others. Give them a call."

Eventually, the call was made. Tests were ordered. An appointment scheduled. We never made it to that appointment. After the second test the doctor who happened to be there came in. I was at work so he recorded it for me.

(In a Romanian accent:)
"You need an aortic valve replacement plus one, maybe two bypasses. We need to get you in for a heart catheterization immediately."

The past few weeks have been a bit of a blur. That was week one. Week two was the catheterization, which was not pleasant. Watching the video of the vessel function was pretty amazing, however. I'm a big believer in alternative medicine but am properly awed - and grateful - for modern medicine as well. The surgeon on call that day said the surgery was necessary but that the symptoms weren't significant (fatigue and shortness of breath). Because of that he thought it could wait until he was back from covering other cities (Wyoming has two heart surgeons. TWO.) and a vacation. "My office will call and set you up for about a month from now."

Today is Sunday. On Monday last week the office called and said the other surgeon could do it sooner and could we come see him tomorrow? His office is two hours away. We went. He scheduled the surgery for Friday.

"Now, you have a choice. An artificial valve will last the longest. They never wear out, but you have to be on blood thinner for the rest of your life. You can have a tissue valve, which doesn't last quite as long but longer than we used to think. We used to think they would only last 10 years. Now studies are showing they last up to 25 years."

"What kind of tissue?"

"We prefer to use bovine pericardium."

We looked at each other. A cow valve??

Friday morning they installed an extra-large aortic COW valve in Jack's heart. He has been missing the cows since we moved. Now he literally carries one around with him. Or maybe more bull. 

Calving out heifers

First, let me say that both the word "calving" and the word "heifer" are new additions to my vocabulary. Calf, I knew. Turning it into a verb seemed a bit of a stretch of proper grammar. In case you, too, are new to this vernacular, let me help.

Heifer: a female bovine who has yet to have a calf.
To calve: Giving birth, or assisting in the labor.

I have no I idea why it is called calving out heifers. It just is. I'd say I don't ask, but I do. I'm a librarian. I ask a lot of questions, but they don't all have answers.

Calving heifers is Jack's absolute favorite thing in the world. Better than German chocolate cake, even. He spends every Spring babysitting them every hour all night and checking them all day, pulling, nursing and doctoring as needed. And need is the word. The cows (after they've calved once they get promoted) are left to calve on their own out in the big pasture, but these girls would never make it.

For some, nature kicks in and they instinctively nurture and care for their young. For an alarming number, however, they are stunned at what is happening to them and not at all sure how or interested in caring for their babies. Jack convinces them being a mom is a good idea. He is the perfect midwife; he knows when they need help and when they just need to be left alone.

 I just like to watch all the babies.

Why did the bull cross the road?

One side of the highway we have cows and calves. On the other side, the bulls. 

On my way home the other night I encountered this:

Luckily, right behind was this:

And this is what ensued:

Turns out, Jack can move a bull with just about anything, including a F350.

Gives new meaning to the word "Drover" (DROVER: One who drives cattle or sheep ), don't you think?

At least one car had pulled up behind me and this was all happening on the slope of a hill where drivers coming at 70 mph down the hill would not be expecting a bull nor an oddly placed truck. The Highway Patrol came to help.

Jack knew exactly where to steer this errant youngun.

He went back in the way he came out, under the wire stretching across a ditch.

But he is NOT happy about it.

Ten minutes later, Jack caught him sneaking under AGAIN and had to stretch more wire across that span. 

Sorry, Bud, no cows for you yet!

Snack bar

Before:

After:

Fade to black

First of all, is it just me or does she look tired already?
Most ranches around here have moved to raising Black Angus, which are solid black. There are a few red Angus around, but that’s the extent of the variety for most of the county. Occasionally we’ll see a random Longhorn, Charolais, White Park or Belted Galloway while driving around and I get very excited simply because they are different. (Note: look at me knowing cattle breeds. When did that happen?)
Which is one of the reasons I like this ranch. For generations this ranch has run Hereford cattle, the red and white ones. Why is this better than living on an Angus ranch?  Because red and white cows are far easier to photograph than solid colored ones!
But now they are introducing black Angus bulls into the herd and we’re getting black white-faced and black mottle-faced calves like this little guy (or gal). Even more variety! All the better to photograph.

Molecular redistribution

There is little moisture here. The average annual rainfall is around seven inches. Right now, moisture mostly comes in the form of snow and this week we had some warming days that melted the snow into pure liquid water. The problem is the ground here doesn't know what to do with it.


I tested this theory once by pouring water on to the ground. The balls of moisture curled up and sat, rejected by the dirt beneath, and waited to evaporate. Eventually - minutes later - chemistry had begun to work and the patch of dirt was indeed stained wet, but it was absorbed molecule by molecule, not with the kind of thirst I expected of dirt in the desert.

So imagine that writ large into snowmelt. Slick. Water on top of Gortex dirt; not unlike an oily road surface, really. When the water pools it eventually sinks in whether the dirt likes it or not and creates mud. My car and this mud are not friends. It sucks the car around and spits it out in inopportune places.  The car responds by splattering mud as far as it can.


Last year, we reached a detente in this war and resorted to leaving my car at the end of the driveway, close to the safety of asphalt, and using more appropriate vehicles to ferry me back and forth. Jack collects me in his truck, a ranch truck, or other vehicles that may have once been ranch trucks but which are now missing critical parts (like floors).

He collected me at the end of the driveway the other day and we relayed the stories of our daily activities on the way back to the house. I chattered about meetings and my aerobics class. He was sober; emotion caught in his voice.

"I lost a calf today."
"What happened? I thought they weren't supposed to start until next week."
"I know, but it didn't look premature. I found the heifer standing over it, nudging it, but it was already
dead. She would have been a good mama."


The next morning, dressed for my office job, I head for the ranch truck. On the flatbed is the calf, still looking like the newborn it was, exhausted and waiting to be licked back to life.

Sometimes I wish I could return to the world of blissful ignorance of buying packaged food at the grocery store and not giving a thought about where it came from, about the people who endure such stress and strain and the animals who sacrifice so much just so I can have a meal.  

Maybe I am the water, curled up and sitting on this Wyoming dirt until I evaporate on to the next phase of life. Or maybe I am the dirt into which the Wyoming lifestyle is melting. I've come to accept a lot about life here, but sometimes I still find dry patches.

“Adapt yourself to the things among which your lot has been cast and love sincerely the fellow creatures with whom destiny has ordained that you shall live.” - Marcus Aurelius

Hungry Heifers

You've heard of hungry hippos? Here are some hungry (and thirsty) heifers.

Traffic jam

We want what they're having (the oxen calves were eating grain just inside the fence.)

Why we lose water during the middle of the day - they drank it all!

Ok, fine. Can we have what they're having? (that's the chicken house, where the corn lives)

You feed us, you get to go home. Capiche?

Finally! Breakfast on the run.