A stroke of bad luck

The cows you count on the most are often the ones that hurt the most to lose. Every dairy producer knows that life comes with many highs and lows, and though we don’t like to admit it, we have been walking through the lows with the cows lately.

Not too long ago, we made a change to our fresh cow program by switching to a product we believed would improve performance. Instead, we were blindsided by more transition issues and down cows than we are accustomed to. It has been a humbling reminder that even well-intentioned adjustments can bring unintended consequences. These cows were just beginning their lactations with limitless potential. It’s hard not to feel like we lost an entire chapter of what could have been a productive, promising career from some of these cows.

To stretch the bad luck further, we have also had a couple of unaccounted injuries. Although we weren’t there to see it, a cow came into a raging heat and was ridden down, injured. Shortly after, another cow had her teat stepped on, which quickly progressed into toxic mastitis. Both were more than exceptional cows, producing well over 100 pounds of milk a day. They were easy keepers, the kind you hardly notice because they never give you any trouble. They are the kind you work to build an entire herd around.

Sometimes, it feels like the cows you would miss the most because of their dependability are the first to show when something goes wrong. Maybe it’s because their absence leaves the biggest gap, or maybe it’s because the silent workers are the ones we appreciate the most. 

 With every slow or down cow, there are ultimately three possible outcomes. The best-case scenario and the one we always hope for is a full recovery and return to the herd’s future. We pour everything we have into giving them that chance. Experience, however, has taught us that it doesn’t always unfold that way. Sometimes, the win becomes loading her onto the trailer and sending her to the sale barn for salvage value. It’s never the outcome we want, but it means we didn’t lose everything. As my dad says, sometimes they just have a career change, transitioning into a meat animal instead of entering the milking herd.

The last possibility is the one we work tirelessly to prevent: when she doesn’t recover at all. In this case, you’re not only losing the value of the cow but also the milk she would have produced and the productive years she had ahead of her. This is the loss you feel the longest, not just on the books but in the barn.

It’s frustrating to pour your heart and soul into these animals you care so much about and not see the results you worked so hard for. These are some of the moments that test your fire, your passion and your motivation for work you love deeply. These are the moments that make you question it all.

And yet, the hardship has had a way of making our whole team closer and more united. It takes a lot of collaboration, problem solving, long hours and complete trust in one another to seamlessly get through challenges. Each of us carries very distinct but necessary roles, stepping in wherever and whenever we are needed. There’s comfort in knowing we are only a phone call away from each other at all times of the day.

At the end of the day, if we have given everything we have and it still doesn’t turn out the way we planned, the only thing left to do is learn from the situation and show up again tomorrow, ready to do it all over again. It is crucial to the farm and to each other to get back up, dust ourselves off and control the controllable. Tough times won’t last, but tough people do. Dad always reminds us that it’s better to have problems inside the barn than inside the house.

Abby Fairbanks is the third-generation on her family’s farm. She works full-time with her parents, Doug and Jody, where they milk 400 cows  near Anamosa, Iowa.