Animals tell us things without the benefit of a language. Much like watching little kids, those who can’t yet speak up for themselves, we diligently notice signs that something may be wrong with the animals under our care.
Back in the day when we were dairying full time, milking a herd of Holsteins twice daily, we interacted with cows, heifers and calves nonstop. If they were sick, we’d know it, because we knew how they acted when they weren’t.
While I hesitate to compare kids to cows, it’s a pretty close analogy.
When we moved into our farmhouse Oct. 1, 1988, we knew right away we’d want to remodel. While the house had character — after all, it was over 100 years old — it was quite outdated.
Plans got put on hold for a bit, because before we’d even begun, we adopted our first son, bringing him home Nov. 23, 1988 — right before Thanksgiving. That year, the holiday took on a depth of gratitude to God that cannot be sufficiently described.
Our remodeling project began when our sweet son was not yet a year old. Gutting the old farmhouse kitchen, dining room and living room, our living, sleeping and eating quarters were assigned to our bedrooms. We stuck a hot plate in the main bedroom for heating food. Not ideal, to say the least.
Because our door was closed to the remodeling and the rest of the house exposed, our furnace kicked into high gear, which made the bedroom quite warm. Our little boy developed bronchitis. He couldn’t articulate how he felt, but by his glassy eyes, hot forehead, restlessness and raspy cough, he told me without words that we needed to get help.
That night I made my bed on the floor by his crib, praying. I didn’t leave his side, sleeping in a semi-conscious state. Whisking him to the clinic the next morning, my suspicion was confirmed. Explaining our situation to the doctor, he advised removing our son from the project if at all possible.
Getting home, my husband and I discussed possibilities. After OK’ing the plan with my parents, our son and I moved in with them for the duration of the remodel, about a month.
In the meantime, our son’s health improved with antibiotics and a more stable home temperature. He took his first steps at my mom and dad’s. He was 11 months old.
After doing night chores, my husband would come back to my parents’ house, spend the night with us and head out before dawn to go back and milk cows. That whole time in our life is deeply etched in my memory. It was not fun, but we lived through it. Our son got healthy, and as a result of our efforts, we have enjoyed our remodeling for many years.
Our little boy was so sick, but because I knew him well and knew how he acted when he wasn’t sick, it was evident to us that he needed help.
When it comes to livestock, we knew when we were milking cows, and now, with the herd we’ve been entrusted with, that we understand the difference between healthy and sick animals. My husband diligently watches. If one of the heifers in our heifer barn has a runny nose or watery eyes, is listless or seems to have been losing weight, we can tell something is up.
When we were milking cows, mastitis (inflammation of the udder) was one of several threats to a cow’s health and, if not caught in time, could bring her down. Sick cows would “talk” to us by not coming into the barn with the rest of the herd or, if they did, they wouldn’t dig into their grain. A healthy cow dive bombs her nose first thing into the pile of grain, lifting her head up and chewing with bliss, eyes lidded; whereas a sick cow sniffs the grain and looks away. Some may even develop a fever.
Ears are another great indicator. A healthy cow has warm ears, and extremes send a red flag. If ears are droopy or either hot or cold, a cow may be coming down with something.
Dull eyes display another red flag. Panting or raspy breathing could point to a respiratory infection.
Sore feet may cause a cow to go off feed, which means she simply stops eating. When they’re in pain, they don’t want to eat. A healthy cow always wants to eat. Unfortunately, within a herd of cows, one or two bullies may get drawn to the one that’s lame, singling her out and pushing her around. Maddeningly to us, they see a weakness and go after it.
While the comparison between our dearly beloved children and animals is kind of unusual, I wanted to stress being watchfully diligent in both cases is what makes all the difference.
(“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” Romans 12:12, NIV)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
