Fairwell, Dolly.

Tonight, as we shared dinner with friends and family, we celebrated the beginning of summer, hard work and the farm’s bounty.  We made a toast to Dolly, our family’s milk cow, as tomorrow she will become part of our family’s food.  

It’s been a tough decision to butcher Dolly.  She’s been a wonderful part of the farm the last three years - supplying milk, two calves and hundreds of hours of companionship.   When she developed mastitis early on, we were sure that with our love and tender care, she would heal and we would spend a couple decades together in a cheese-butter-yogurt frenzy.

 When we first bought Dolly, we had no idea how her early care as a calf – before us -  would impact her longevity as a milk cow.  We simply wanted a dairy cow, she was affordable, and we bought her off of Craigs List (what most people do for their 40^th birthday, right?!?)   We were naïve.  We didn’t ask the right questions of the seller.  Our animal husbandry experience was restricted to adopting shelter cats and dogs.  We figured all that was needed for success was a little TLC and some YouTube videos.  We were wrong.

Late into her first lactation, Dolly developed mastitis and we thought  it was just a random first-time-mamma-cow –thing  and we thought we had treated it successfully.  Then in her second lactation, the mastitis came back with a vengeance.  After spending months administering herbal concoctions, heat compresses, massage, ointments and even breaking down and using antibiotics, we knew that the udder infection was serious but still we refused to believe she was a lost case.  After hundreds of dollars in vet bills, research and lab work, her milk production continued to lessen and her udders continued to deteriorate, and we knew that , as much as we wanted her to be a part of our farm, she just wasn’t going to be able to.  A milk cow that can’t produce milk or calve is a losing combination or a very expensive pet. 

Tonight under the full moon, we stood in the field with Dolly and the calves and said our goodbyes.  So sweet - the warm summer breeze mixed with the smells of grass and blackberry bloom.  So strange to know that tomorrow her flesh will be torn into pieces and will feed our family in ways we never anticipated. 

Everyday on our farm, we learn something new about the cycle of life and about ourselves.  Thankful blessings, mixed with sadness.