Cesarean Satisfaction

Several months ago we started watching one of the cows -- a very small heifer (a heifer is a cow who's never had a calf) who looked hugely pregnant. Since grandpa doesn't keep track of these things, we had no idea how pregnant she really was. We discussed inducing labor to get the baby out before it got too big, but we waited, instead. And waited, and waited. Finally, three weeks ago, after nearly every other cow had calved, she went into labor. And went nowhere. She pushed for hours, and then my dad called and said they were going to have to try to pull the calf. That means, yes, you pull on the calf to get it out. You reach inside and loop chains around the calf's legs, and then brace yourself against the cow and pull as hard as you can. Well, a couple of neighbors came down to help, and they pulled and pulled, and that calf just would not come. We told grandpa it would have to be a c-section, but he just couldn't get used to the idea. Those vets, they charge a lot of money! They pulled some more and we all heard a big popping sound. They stopped pulling. Who knew what that sound meant. Had they broken the baby's legs? The mother's pelvis? Had the chain just slipped and popped? We called the vet and arranged to meet him at the clinic with the cow. This was friday night... of course Miss Shorty had to wait until the weekend to go into labor. Dad ran home for his truck and then back up to the neighbor's for a trailer. Shorty wouldn't get up, so they dragged her (she's that small) into the trailer. With lots of prodding at the clinic we got her up and out, tied her to a panel in the clinic barn, and went to work. We had the whole county there... my dad and I and two neighbors and the vet and the vet tech. We were all doubtful as to whether that baby was still alive, after hours of labor. The doctor reached in and found a pelvis so small that only the calf's front feet fit through it. The head is supposed to follow the front feet, and there was just no way. It had to be surgery. And so, a few minutes later, the doctor pulled out a calf by its hind feet, its head smacked on the floor, we all held our breath, I cleared the mucus from her mouth, and she breathed... and then so did we. I rubbed her down and she was much healthier than anyone had expected. To make the rest of this long story short, mama's fine, baby's fine, she's a pretty little girl, and the pair are now known as "Shortcake and Strawberry." So, in the end, I'm satisfied, and even grandpa is, too. Now he calls baby Strawberry "a miracle, you know."