My partner's father, Charlie, was hospitalized for injuries suffered as a result of falling off a hay wagon, and thus the chores related to looking after the small herd of cows was left to Andy. He really looked forward to this time away in the country as it gave him the opportunity to relive the experiences that were so wonderful for him while growing up on the farm.

It was a beautiful sunny day and we planned to see the cows first and then we slip over to the hospital afterwards for a visit with Charlie. There was one cow that was due to give birth, and when we arrived Andy carefully looked her over, and said she had already broken her water and would likely give birth within a few hours. He decided we should go see his father in the meantime and come back later to attend to the cow.

We drove to the hospital in Seaforth to tell his Dad the news, and when Charlie remarked how that particular cow always had big bull calfs, I winced inside feeling that there could be trouble ahead. I said that perhaps we should get back to watch over the cow, but neither Andy nor his Dad seemed anxious about the situation, so being a city-slicker who had never been close to any farm animals, I kept quiet. The uneasy feeling prevailed as they kept talking, and finally I spoke up and asked if we could get on our way.

When we arrived Andy went into the barn and picked up some rope in case we needed it for the birth. As we approached the small group of trees and bushes I could see, and hear, the poor cow thrashing helplessly. She would stand for awhile, then fall down and throw her hindquarters on the ground. I soon saw that the poor calf would never come out alive. There were two large bulls on either side of her and Andy said that we couldn't get close to her with these bulls standing so near. I decided to talk to them out loud and said that we wanted to help their friend, but that they needed to back away and give us room to get closer. Remarkably, they slowly edged away and allowed us free access to the distressed mother.

Andy tied the rope around her neck and began to assess the situation. It was as we both feared. The calf was too big and the body was turned around backwards making it impossible for the cow to have given birth on her own. I was angry at myself for not having followed my intuition sooner...perhaps we could have been here in time to make the difference. It was too late now, and we had to get the calf out so the mother wouldn't strain herself anymore. I held tightly onto the rope while Andy felt inside the cow, turned the calf around, and with a great heaving effort pulled the poor creature out onto the ground. We sat in sad silence as we beheld the lifeless newborn on the ground.

The cow turned around to lick the calf as if this very simple and natural gesture could bring her calf back to life. Tears streamed down my face and I grieved along with this mother for her baby. She continued to heave and push even though her ordeal in the physical sense should have been over, and Andy started pulling roughly on the rope around her neck to get her to stand. I don't know what came over me but I screamed at him is if he were tugging at my own throat and told him to leave her alone. 

Couldn't he see that she was still trying to come to grips with the death of her calf? And how did he think she felt after having carried and nurtured her baby for this length of time only to see it now lying motionless at her feet? He backed off at my questions as somewhere deep within I made a connection with his higher self. He quietly explained that if she didn't stop heaving and get up soon, her own life would be in danger as she would run the risk of pushing her uterus out onto the ground as well.

A 'voice' inside said that we should try some Therapeutic Touch and I showed Andy the basic principles and asked for his help. We made a silent prayer together and began by leaning over the cow's head and gently moved our hands down over her shoulders, along her back and around her belly and tail. We sent a calming, healing energy as we methodically moved down her entire body for the next five minutes. Slowly, she started breathing deeply and gently, and within a few minutes the heaving stopped completely. Andy looked at me with relief and bewilderment. He said that she still needed to get up and walk around right away but I asked him to go away and leave us alone for ten minutes, and that she would be able to get up on her own at that time. I gave her a gentle pat and then felt that I too should leave her alone and went over to sit down by the stream nearby.

The bulls returned to check on the mother, sniffed the calf, and backed off to let the other cows get close. I observed this inner sanctum of the cow community with reverence, as they all seemed to be 'talking' to the mother, and one by one came by to give their condolences. Some would give her a lick and others merely looked down at her baby, then at her, and quietly walked away so another cow could pay their respects. There was such an amazing amount of tenderness and care for the mother displayed by her friends, and I felt truly blessed to observe their silent, gentle, and loving communication with each other. 

Once this ritual had been completed, she seemed to find an inner strength, and true to my prediction, she struggled to her wobbly feet and we all breathed a sigh of relief.