My son stole my calf. My tame, slick-coated, grain-loving, bottle-raised calf.
Her name is Euphegenia, as in Mrs. Doubtfire.
This black calf with a black and white speckled face is maybe 600 pounds, and she was a year old in May. She’s quite small; I’m not sure when and what we will breed her to. But she’s a pet and owes her life at our farm to her beloved mother.
Her mother, who wasn’t 850 pounds soaking wet, came to Haddam from Colorado with a semi-load of red Angus heifers that Michael took care of one summer. This all-black, big-eared calf was apparently a foster calf for an Angus cow and was sent to Kansas with her pen mates for lack of any other idea of what to do with her.
She must have had tropical bloodlines because, even in the dead of winter, she was as slick and short-haired as a cow in June, and she had only half of a tail. It must have froze off in the Colorado winter.