Christmas with her Boss

Millicent was down, flat on her side, her body arched and her neck stretched up as if straining to the limit.

Meg…yes, it was Meg…was lying behind her, a dark shadow behind the light. He could see a mat laid out to the side, a couple of buckets, rags, ropes…

‘Problem?’ he asked as he came up beside her and she didn’t react. He looked more closely-and discovered why she didn’t react. She was hardly in a position to concentrate on anything but the cow.

What was she doing?

‘What’s happening?’ he asked, squatting beside her.

‘Dystocia,’ she said, gasping. ‘I can’t.’

She was lying flat, hard against Millicent’s rear. Her arm…

‘Dystocia?’

‘Birth problems.’ She sounded as if she’d been running. ‘First calf. Bull was too big and now this. I knew it. I can’t…’

‘What can’t you do?’ he said, feeling helpless. He’d never seen a birth. He never wanted to see a birth.

Obviously, he was going to see this one.

Or more than see. ‘Maybe you can help,’ she gasped, and he thought maybe he should head back to his nice safe attic right now. Only a coward would run.

He surely felt like a coward.

‘You’re stronger than I am,’ she gasped and he thought, uh oh.

‘Can we call the vet?’

‘He’s away until after Christmas. He warned us.’

‘Surely there’s more than one vet.’ He was taking in the whole scene now and, as he did, Millicent strained. Her whole body heaved and Meg moaned, and moaned again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I can’t…’ She gasped, not able to continue until the contractions subsided. Then… ‘Yes, we need a vet but we only have one locally. And the calf’s leg’s tucked backward instead of forward, meaning there’s a ridge of shoulder stopping the birth. So I need to get the head back in the birth canal so there’s room to turn it. But I can’t. I don’t have the strength.’ She pushed and pushed again-and then seemed to make a decision. Her arm was suddenly free. She dunked it in the nearest bucket and looked up to him. ‘Can you?’

‘Can I what?’

‘Push the head back far enough so you can get the leg forward.’

He felt as if someone had punched him. Milking was one thing, but this? ‘You want me to…’

‘I’m not strong enough,’ she said simply. ‘Please.’

‘You think I…’

She wasn’t listening. ‘Rip your shirt off-it’ll be ruined. Shove your arm into the disinfectant and I’ll lubricate it. Hurry, before the next contraction.’

‘You want me to…’

‘Just do it,’ she snapped and he was hauling his shirt off, thinking…thinking…nothing.

He dunked his arm in disinfectant. Meg wiped it and then started lathering him with some sort of jelly. He felt too winded to object.

‘Lie flat,’ she told him. ‘If a contraction hits, don’t try to do anything except stop the head coming further forward. But the foreleg on the right is lying back instead of hoof-forward. You need to push the head back far enough so you have space to feel the foreleg and tug it forward. There’s no way she can get the calf out with it back.’

‘I have no idea how to do that.’

‘Simple,’ she snapped. ‘Cows have two forelegs. To calf they both need to be forward with the head between. So you pull a leg forward.’

‘How do I know what everything is?’

She wasn’t listening to his panic. She was intent only on instructions. ‘It’s not brain surgery. A hoof’s easy to feel. Think about it. Think what you’re looking for and then find it. Gentle as you can-do no damage-but you have to move fast. Before the next contraction. Go.’

So he lay full length on the grass and he did the unthinkable. To his astonishment, he could feel… What? He could feel the head. He could feel one small hoof on the left.

He needed the matching one.

Another contraction rippled through and he discovered why Meg had moaned. He almost moaned himself.

‘Don’t try and do anything during the contraction. Just hold it,’ she snapped from above him and he held with all the strength he had and he knew that if he hadn’t been holding the head would be emerging.

With one hoof and not the other.

So he held and finally, blessedly, the contraction eased.

‘Now push,’ Meg said urgently. ‘All the force you can. You need to get it back.’

He didn’t need to be told. He pushed, gently at first and then, as his grip tightened, as he became more sure of what he was holding, he pushed with more force. Then he pushed with all his strength.

The head moved…and then more…

‘Now.’ Meg would have seen by his arm that the head had shifted. ‘Before the next contraction. Find the leg.’

He had to loosen his grip on the head, slide his fingers to the side… It was so tight…

But there it was, a bony joint, surely the leg. He felt along it, conscious of the need for speed…

He had it, hooked by two fingers, and he was tugging it forward.

‘Careful not to rip anything,’ Meg said urgently. ‘Take care.’

Another contraction. He felt it coming, released the leg, held the head. Just held.

Then, as the contraction eased, he moved again, only this time he knew what he was looking for.

He had it. He pulled, hard, hoping he wasn’t doing more harm than good, but the limb was slithering round, shifting, and there seemed to be room…

He had it!

‘It’s round,’ he muttered and Meg’s hand was on his shoulder, pressing him in a move of exultation. She was lying against him, full length on the dirt. ‘Aligned?’

He knew what she meant and he could feel it. He had two neat hooves with the head between.

‘Yes. Here’s another…’

‘Let it come,’ she said. ‘It’ll come now.’

And it did, the next contraction shoving everything forward. Two hooves were out, and Meg was fastening them before the head appeared, tying them carefully with some sort of soft rope.

‘What…’

‘Just in case we need to help her,’ she said. ‘She’s been straining for too long already and this calf is big. I’ll loop this above and below the fetlock so we can pull without doing damage.’

‘Where did you learn to do this?’ he demanded, dazed, and he felt her smile rather than saw it.

‘You mean why wasn’t it on my CV? I can’t think why I didn’t include it. Here we go.’

Another contraction. Meg let it pass but the head didn’t emerge.

‘Okay, let’s give her a hand,’ she said. ‘Can you take the rope? Tug with the contraction, not too hard, not enough to hurt the calf, I’m happy with an inch or two at a time.’

He nodded. Meg’s hands were lubricated again. She was feeling…

‘Now,’ she said and he tugged.

A little further.

‘Man, this head’s big,’ Meg said. ‘With the size of this brain, you must be having the smartest baby on the planet, Millicent. He’ll take a lot of knitting for a baby bonnet.’

Her voice was low and even and, with a sense of shock, William realised that, even though most of Meg’s attention was on the calf, there was solid affection and worry for the cow as well.

She’d given her heart to a cow? How nuts was that? Where was his clinically efficient, unemotional PA now?

Gone. And the sense of loss was gut-wrenching.

‘Now,’ she said again, and then moaned because her hand was cupping the head, shoehorning it, and William