Sometimes the smallest events in life leave the biggest impact. The unlikely star of this story is Lilly, the little bottle calf who taught me valuable lessons about life, loss and endless determination.
Learning Responsibility
Lilly arrived on our farm in the spring of 2004. Orphaned shortly after birth, she was the first of many bottle calves that would eventually build the Banwart cattle herd.
I was 11 years old and taking on new chores and responsibilities as a first-year member of the Fern Valley 4-H Club. Lilly was among some of my earliest livestock projects in addition to the pen of rabbits, flock of chickens and surly guinea pig already under my care.
Weighing only 35 pounds, she quickly stole the attention of my younger brother and I. We eagerly looked forward to bottle feeding her twice each day. We even made a game out of the routine feedings, racing up and down the long lane and giggling as Lilly raced after us for her milk replacement meal.
I was excited to show her at the Palo Alto County Fair that summer. She looked pint-sized next to the other exhibitors’ calves, but I was proud of her progress and took delight in the memories that were made learning how to raise and nurture her.
Our big debut at the fairgrounds was also memorable. All was well as we entered the show ring, until a calf double Lilly’s size started acting up next to me. I took a few painful kicks to the knees and shins, and remember the audible “oohh’s and aahh’s” from the onlooking crowd as the blows came.
Lilly remained calm next to me, and was a comfort through the embarrassing scene. She meant more to me than the blue ribbon I received that day.
Dealing with Loss
After the fair, Lilly remained a lovable 4-H project and farm pet as she matured into a full grown heifer. Tame and gentle-natured, she would often be found roaming around the yard halter-free.
An entry from my 4-H record book titled “What will happen to your calf after the fair?” revealed my future plans for Lilly.
“It will return to my farm and hopefully my Dad will let me keep her and let her have a calf of her own,” I wrote.
That young 4-Her’s wish nearly came true. Several other bottle calves, including Salsa, Midnight, Charlie and Little Brother to name a few, found homes on the Banwart farm. Lilly became the strong and calm herd leader.
Plans were set in motion for me to return to the fair with Lilly as a cow-calf pair, but those plans were thwarted when Lilly suddenly fell ill.
Although we were never able to confirm the cause of her illness, we suspect she managed to rummage through a nearby burn pile and contracted hardware disease, an infection caused by the ingestion of a sharp, metallic object.
We attempted to treat her and called the local vet out to the farm for help, but it was too late. Lilly’s condition deteriorated, so we did or best to make her comfortable during her final hours.
I felt like I was losing my best friend. Like any other pet, Lilly had become a member of the family and it was difficult to imagine life on the farm without her. I remember lying next to Lilly on the dirt floor of the cattle shed, my head against her chest as she closed her eyes and took her final breaths.
The other cattle in the herd made their way over to the nearby gate and let out low, mournful moos. Many tears were shed when she passed.
Getting Back in the Ring
Devastated by the loss of my beloved bovine friend, I lost my enthusiasm for livestock showing. The idea just wasn’t the same after all the hours spent and memories made with Lilly.
Losing Lilly taught me about the fragility of life at a young age, but the experience also taught me that even when life gets tough, you can always get back in the ring.
Fast forward to the summer before my senior year of high school. I was in my final year of 4-H and had spent the previous years watching my brother show steers and cow-calf pairs from our home-grown herd.
A little nostalgic about the years I had given up, I decided it was time to give livestock showing another try. Enter T-bone, the lead steer.
While I didn’t have the same bottle-to-bucket relationship with my first (and last) lead steer as I did with Lilly, working with T-bone was a therapeutic labor of love. Halter-breaking him at a beginning weight of 740 pounds was a bit different than a 35-pound bottle calf, but I took the same level of pride feeding, grooming and fitting him for the big day in the show ring.
I’m not normally an early-riser, but on the day of my last livestock showing experience at the Palo Alto County Fair I was up at dawn and one of the first exhibitors on the fairgrounds.
I washed, combed and dried T-bone that morning and prepared myself for my last walk through the livestock pavilion, where I had shown Lilly eight years earlier.
I finished third in my class and went home with a blue ribbon and a rewarding feeling of accomplishment. Although I had wished I would have stepped back into the ring sooner, I was glad I gave it another chance while I still had the opportunity.
Life has a funny way of teaching us unexpected lessons. My time with Lilly taught me about responsibility, how to come to terms with loss and most importantly, that it’s never too late in life to try, and try again.
My record book entry for “What have you learned by completing the bucket calf project?” left me with this simple, yet slightly prophetic advice.
“You should always wear boots around a calf or cow and if you bottle feed it by hand, hold on tight.”