She was antsy, and didn’t know what to do with herself.

She kept wringing her tail like they always do when they are nervous.

Her still wet, newborn little calf lay shaking at her feet, eyes blinking rapidly at what had to be the most blinding light.

She was a new mama, and I was standing by to see how things would go with her and her little one.

Every so often, she would lower her head and bellow right in her little baby’s ears.  Then she would rear up, a few inches off the ground and bounce her feet down, right by her little one. 

I figured she was trying to urge it to its feet, and, soon, that is what it tried to do. 

Slowly, and very shakily, it raised up on its hind legs, swaying from side to side as it made efforts to adapt to the strange new world all around it. 

But it was too weak, and it fell back to the ground.  In a few minutes it tried again, and this time, made it all the way up. 

Her mom cheered for her, or so I thought, with a huge bellow and prancing feet.  But then, she lowered her head and butted the poor little one right over. 

This might not have been so bad, had the little one been on level ground.  But it was on a side slope, and, in tall grass, and, in a small village of badger holes. 

It was on the second time up, and second time butted down, this time with one of its front legs fully down one of those holes, that I took matters into my own hands.

Literally. 

I jumped off my four-wheeler and ran to the little one, scooping her up in my arms.

My intention was to get her away from all those badger holes and on a more level surface so she could try again.

But I didn’t get that far.  Evidently my intervention was the catalyst that made the new mama, a mama for real, and she came, bellowing and at a very high rate of speed, to her little girl’s defense.

Whereupon, I decided we had made it far enough away from the badger town and quickly set the little one in my arms down, as gently as possible, and made a speedy exit. 

I checked back in on them later, and saw the thing that always amazes me. 

The little calf and her mom were now hundreds of yards from where it had been born, and now, like every other time, I saw her mom gently nuzzling it down into a tiny little black ball. 

It was in tall enough vegetation that if I hadn’t known it was there and was driving by, I more than likely would have missed it. 

I hung around to see if what I knew had happened other times would happen again. 

And it did. 

Mama, seeing that her little one was settled, left for a drink of water, which was a half mile away. 

I don’t know what those mama’s tell their little ones when they bed them down like that, but whatever it is, it sticks.

That little girl stayed put, exactly where her mom had told her to stay. 

She was nothing more than a tiny, little black blurb out there, where the wind was kicking along at better than 40 m.p.h.

I watched her nap a little, then wake up, and gaze serenely about, even though, by now, her mom was nowhere in sight.

I waited a bit until I saw, way off, mom coming back our way.  Our pasture ground is cut up with little zigs and zags in the fence line, and, we are currently grazing off some milo stocks just next to the pasture.

This little girl was in the milo stocks and dust; mom had missed her turn back at the start, and was on the other side of the fence, in the pasture, a good 300 feet from her little calf, once she pulled up even with us. 

Had the calf been older than just a day and a half, and the wind been less than a howling gale, I probably would have let mom call her over, and all would have been fine.  It might have been anyway. 

Instead, I got off my four-wheeler and walked right up to the little one.  I knew I could, because I knew whatever mom had told her before she left would keep the little one planted there, regardless. 

The little girl looked up at me as I approached, never flinching, never batting an eye.  She watched me all the way in and curled into my arms as I picked her up, and carried her the 300 feet to the fence. 

We were a long way downwind from mama, and I know a cow’s eyesight is second to their nose.  I could see her looking back and forth and not seeing what she wanted. 

But as she got closer, I put the little girl down and nudged her under the fence.  I was staying on my side this time; I didn’t want to put in a 100-yard dash yet this late in the day.

Mama caught sight, circled wide around and downwind of us, keeping her eye on us the whole time.  As soon as she caught her little one’s scent she rushed in and claimed her. 

*****

Today, that little one is several days old, and there is no way I can get close enough to pick her up anymore.  She’s not so helpless, and has enough stamina to stay up with the rest. 

It seems to me, somehow, that if we could do a little bit like that calf when we are in a situation that has all help out of sight, sort of sit quiet, if you will, having confidence that the one we can’t see, knows all about us and will be back momentarily, that in the meantime there are faithful ones standing by, keeping watch until he does, we might encounter a lot less stress and heartache.