The Lonely Cow

There is a small wooded hill directly behind our back yard. It is a short hill but rather steep, and in summer it is covered with heavy brush, undergrowth, and fallen trees and sticks. None of those things are visible this morning; they are all blanketed by at least two feet of snow.

This morning, as I open the blinds on the door and windows that look out in that direction, I see a lone cow making her way down the hill. I am instantly struck by two things as I watch her. First, she walks down the steep hill without a stumble or pause. The deep snow would be enough to cause a stumble on its own. When you factor in all the sticks, brush, saplings, and other obstructions under the snow, it is not an easy stroll. Add in the steep grade, and you would think the cow would be stumbling all over the place. This is not the case, as she makes her way down the hill with surprising ease.



The second thing I'm struck by is that she is a cow alone. Most of the cows I've seen this winter have a closely guarded calf in tow. I wonder why there is no calf here this morning. Was there a calf that was taken away by tragedy? Did stillbirth, starvation, a car, or some other misfortune take this lonely cow's calf from her? Or was there ever a calf for this cow? I like to hope that she is just a young cow who hasn't yet begun her calf bearing yet.

Moose typically breed in late summer or early fall, and give birth about 8 months later; this is done on a yearly basis. This year's brutal winter might affect this cycle not just for this year, but for the next two years. The struggle for food this winter will likely result in higher rates of calf stillbirths in spring. It also could affect breeding this fall. Ovulation periods of moose can be disrupted by a lack of quality nutrition. That ovulation might happen too late in the breeding season, or it might be too weak, or it might not happen at all. It is possible that a cow might go two breeding seasons without a calf. If this happens much, the consequences on moose population could be drastic.



Abby the cat is once again here with me as I moose watch.



As we watch the cow trudge through the snow, I seem to detect a little bit of melancholy. It seems that she is lonely, or maybe she is mourning a lost calf. Maybe she is just tired of the snow and tired of birch twigs. Or perhaps she is just thinking about how she'd rather be wading in a pond and basking in the warm sunshine.

Keep your snout up, old girl. Hopefully this time next year I'll see you and your calf right here munching on my trees.