‘I promise.’
It seemed like seconds later that Issi was shaking her shoulder. ‘I’ve just rung the vet,’ she said.
Fran shot up, instantly awake. ‘Oh my God! Is it going to be all right?’
‘We don’t know.’
Fran realised that Issi was close to tears and that she needed to be up for her friend’s sake, as much as for the cow and calf. Issi’s happiness was very bound up with Tig’s and she realised that if anything happened to any of the animals, he would be devastated.
Sheput her hand on Issi’s. ‘You go. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
The briefest splash of water on her face to wake her up and Fran was on her way to the cowshed.
The heifer was on her side, mooing. Tig was lying on the straw at the back end, his arm in the cow, his expression intense.
‘The vet’s on his way,’ said Issi, who seemed calmer now.
Tig looked up and saw her. ‘Vets don’t come cheap. I wouldn’t have called him if I could have managed – Oh, hang on, I might have got something. Is? Can you pass me those ropes hanging there?’
‘Tig, if you need the vet, call him! Don’t hesitate. We’ll pay him somehow.’ Fran had no idea how much vets cost, but she wouldn’t have let an animal suffer however expensive it was.
He nodded, and Fran knew he was reassured.
Fran couldn’t decide if she was repelled or fascinated as she watched Tig put ropes round the tiny feet that now appeared from the heifer. The thought of an animal being born in this way was horrifying, but it was obviously OK or Tig wouldn’t be doing it.
‘I might need a hand, Is,’ said Tig quietly.
Issi didn’t hesitate. She was over the side of the pen and at Tig’s side in an instant.
‘Right,’ said Tig, ‘hold on to this, and when I say pull, pull.’
Francouldn’t bear to look at or even think of a baby creature being pulled from its mother in such a powerful, not to say violent, way. But she trusted Tig completely, and if he thought ropes and tugging were needed, they definitely were.
She was squinting through the corner of her eye at what was going on when there was a ‘Come on!’ from Tig and then the calf landed on the straw in a gush of blood and fluid.
‘It’s a bull calf,’ said Tig. ‘Now rub it with straw, quite briskly,’ he said to Issi. ‘I’ve got to see to the mother.’ There was no time for celebration.
The calf stirred almost immediately but the mother seemed less happy. Tig tried to encourage her on to her feet but she didn’t want to move.
‘What do you think the matter is?’ asked Issi.
‘Not sure. Could be milk fever.’
Fran found she wanted to cry but bit her lip hard to prevent it. She knew her emotion was to do with the puppies and being so tired and the general stress of it all. But it was also something deeper, more primal. It was watching a fellow female doing what females were born to do: giving birth. And it was hard.
‘I’ll make more tea,’ she said to no one in particular.
‘Good idea,’ said Tig, and his affirmation reassured her.
As she walked back to the house a million unconnected thoughts went through her head, like howshewas still wearing unsuitable stripy wellies even though she’d meant to get proper farming ones when she first arrived; what, if anything, she’d say to Amy if the heifer died; whether Tig really wanted tea or if he just wanted her out of the way; and if she should make tea for the vet.
She loaded up the tray with cake and four mugs of tea, including one for the vet who should arrive at any moment. Then she unloaded it again, put the empty tray in the bottom of a large basket, one of the many that Amy had dotted round the kitchen, and then put everything back on it again. As she set off back to the cowshed she felt pleased that she still had some initiative left.
She’d done right to include the vet in her calculations. When she got back to the cowshed there was a man holding a bottle of clear fluid high up and a tube leading from the bottle to the cow, which now had a needle in one of the veins in her neck.
‘Milk fever,’ said Issi quietly. ‘Andrew is giving her calcium. Andrew!’ she said more loudly. ‘Would you like tea?’
‘I’ll have it afterwards if I may,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry though. I never get to drink a mug of tea while it’s hot. I’ve stopped even liking it that way.’
