This is the time of year when I start several different countdowns.
First, I start to work out how many times I will need to milk before I dry up the cows for winter. Right now, the answer is around 130. I’m not one of those winter milking masochists; me and my cows look forward to our two months off in December and January.
I guess someone has to keep the show going, while us spring dairy types doss off, but there’s a point where you just get tired of the cows firing crap at you in the parlour.
At this point of the year, you’re kind of in the zone when you’re in the pit. It feels a little like practising tai chi or karate. Clean crap off and spray on; cluster on, cluster off; floating from cow to cow.
At times, you’re in your own little world, especially if you’re listening to music or a podcast as you work.
The cows themselves are also repetitive at this time of year. It’s always the same cows in first, and they come in to the same side, then the same cows come in last, again always on the same side.
I have the same second row of cows (who love to kick) and the same bunch who are quieter than mice. There’s a synchronicity in the process, which I kind of enjoy.
I think accountants will have to share a lot of bad news with their farming clients. I hope they have tissues in the office
Besides counting down the
remaining number of milkings, I’m also starting to count down the number of days I can manage to keep the animals out on grass. This one is nearly impossible to calculate, due to the unpredictability of the weather.
You can get a rough idea as to how much grass you have, but can’t really tell how long you can keep them out. At this time of year, it might just get too wet or cold. Still, I’m going to predict 60 days based on previous years.
Unfortunately, I’m also having to count down calves this year. I’m not sure if it’s the weather, their diet or if I have my vaccines all wrong this year, but we have lost several calves in recent weeks. It feels terrible every time you lose a calf.
Probably the biggest counting exercise we encountered in recent weeks was counting up the loss and profit from last year with the accountant. This is always a painful exercise,
especially when you start to see the profit going in the wrong direction.
I think accountants will have to share a lot of bad news with their farming clients. I hope they have tissues in the office. On the positive side, milk prices are finally on the up, and hopefully we will be a lot more cheerful seeing our accountant next year.
The last countdown I’m thinking about is the countdown to our TB herd test, which is in three days. Without a doubt, this is the most stressful few days around the farm. As anyone who goes through it knows, it’s the uncertainty of the result which really keeps you up at night.
It’s also a pain to organise – you have to get every animal home and they have to stay close by for four days.
First for the initial test, and then three days later for the observation. You’re left standing at the end of the crush, praying no lumps are found and waiting for the vet to say those magic words: all clear.
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This is the time of year when I start several different countdowns.
First, I start to work out how many times I will need to milk before I dry up the cows for winter. Right now, the answer is around 130. I’m not one of those winter milking masochists; me and my cows look forward to our two months off in December and January.
I guess someone has to keep the show going, while us spring dairy types doss off, but there’s a point where you just get tired of the cows firing crap at you in the parlour.
At this point of the year, you’re kind of in the zone when you’re in the pit. It feels a little like practising tai chi or karate. Clean crap off and spray on; cluster on, cluster off; floating from cow to cow.
At times, you’re in your own little world, especially if you’re listening to music or a podcast as you work.
The cows themselves are also repetitive at this time of year. It’s always the same cows in first, and they come in to the same side, then the same cows come in last, again always on the same side.
I have the same second row of cows (who love to kick) and the same bunch who are quieter than mice. There’s a synchronicity in the process, which I kind of enjoy.
I think accountants will have to share a lot of bad news with their farming clients. I hope they have tissues in the office
Besides counting down the
remaining number of milkings, I’m also starting to count down the number of days I can manage to keep the animals out on grass. This one is nearly impossible to calculate, due to the unpredictability of the weather.
You can get a rough idea as to how much grass you have, but can’t really tell how long you can keep them out. At this time of year, it might just get too wet or cold. Still, I’m going to predict 60 days based on previous years.
Unfortunately, I’m also having to count down calves this year. I’m not sure if it’s the weather, their diet or if I have my vaccines all wrong this year, but we have lost several calves in recent weeks. It feels terrible every time you lose a calf.
Probably the biggest counting exercise we encountered in recent weeks was counting up the loss and profit from last year with the accountant. This is always a painful exercise,
especially when you start to see the profit going in the wrong direction.
I think accountants will have to share a lot of bad news with their farming clients. I hope they have tissues in the office. On the positive side, milk prices are finally on the up, and hopefully we will be a lot more cheerful seeing our accountant next year.
The last countdown I’m thinking about is the countdown to our TB herd test, which is in three days. Without a doubt, this is the most stressful few days around the farm. As anyone who goes through it knows, it’s the uncertainty of the result which really keeps you up at night.
It’s also a pain to organise – you have to get every animal home and they have to stay close by for four days.
First for the initial test, and then three days later for the observation. You’re left standing at the end of the crush, praying no lumps are found and waiting for the vet to say those magic words: all clear.
Read more
Desperate Farmwife: Why are pre-teens obsessed with skincare?
Desperate Farmhusband: you can ‘check out’ of the farm – but you can never leave
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