Oct 8, 2022
Hiram
About a month ago, I met my mom when she came to Jos. She went on to tell me about one of the cows on the farm, who’d refused to breastfeed her newborn calf. I found it weird but I figured perhaps she was just having a difficult time adjusting to the colossal role of motherhood.
Fast forward to eleven (11) days after delivery, when I got home. I learnt that this calf had gone from a robust and healthy baby to one showing signs of hunger. I panicked.
Normally, I dissociate myself from animals that have horns since I almost lost my eye to one some 15+, years ago, but this time I threw fear away and took on the role of his feeder. While doing that, trust that I made inquiries. Some vets (I don’t trust those guys were real vets) came around and didn’t say anything definite. Mommy had gone from not just refusing to feed, to kicking baby. In my very mental illness-conscious mind, I thought do cows have postpartum depression? I asked around and found out that they actually do (Thank you, Dr Daphne). Having grown up in a house with a doctor, I know better than to self-diagnose, so instead of burning so much emotional and mental energy on what is going on with mommy-cow, I focused my energy on the baby — the one at immediate risk.
We had to improvise feeding, as all attempts to help the cow and calf bond led to worse repercussions. In fact, the mom stopped lactating. The solution was to buy milk from other farmers and supplement it with the one being taken daily, from the older cows in the herd.
I cried on some days, as I watched him skip with delight anytime he sights me or my family members who feed him.
Hope has been watching him, translate from a frail baby, barely able to stand, to one eager to hop and run after me for fun.
Love has been having his sharp hooves step on my feet so many times I thought I had broken something, yet willingly doing it over and over again as long as he gets fed.
Tolerance has been me enduring his instinctive yet forceful bunt for milk in the wrong place. But at least he knows that milk ought to come from between the legs, only this time, I have just two legs and my mammary glands are not downwards. He’s hurt certain members of my kin in the process sha.😂
Anxiety has been me unable to rest easy anytime I am not at home. Like when I visited my cousins for a few days, or when I travelled yesterday — always wondering whether or not he’s been fed.
Fear is me wondering if Hiram missing Colostrum will affect his general development. (Colostrum is the special milk that is secreted in the first 2–3 days after delivery.)
Heartbreak has been watching this little fella less than a month old, learning to eat grass — growing up too quickly and so early because that’s the only way he’ll survive long without his mommy.
Dreams are when I envision him at three months, six months, then one year, two or three years from now. Will he recognize me? I am certain I shall not be with him for long, nonetheless, I find myself hoping he’ll remember my touch. That horns or no horns, he’ll still skip when I stroll into the farm. I want Hiram to know that he is loved. Cow mommy or not.
In these past few weeks, I have been reminding myself to focus on what matters. On the now. Because we never know how long we have. But however long or short it may be, May we all learn to pour our entire selves into the moment. Because here and now is what forms tomorrow and later.
I hope you enjoy moments of love, dreams, hope, anxiety, tolerance and everything in between. Because that is what love is.
Love, Ballie💖
P.S Shout out to Leritmwa for naming this guy. Thank you Lereeeeeet 🤗 And I have videos in case you’re interested in seeing Hiram and me in action. I always forget to ‘capture’ moments because I’m so caught up enjoying and savouring, thankfully, my brother made a few embarrassing ones.
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