How to Catch a Limping Calf (The Hard Way)

Starting a cattle operation isn’t for the faint of heart—or the out of shape. A few weeks ago, we got a lesson in both when one of our little bull calves came up limping.

Now, we’re still getting this ranch up and running, which means we’ve dropped a small fortune on cattle, a tractor, fencing, and everything else you need to run a proper operation. What we haven’t bought yet? A cattle working system, a side-by-side, or a proper cow horse. That meant the only way we were catching this calf was on foot.

Cardio We Didn’t Sign Up For

For about a week, my husband and I tried every approach we could think of to get close to that calf. Every time, the herd took one look at us and bolted for the woods. We’d get close, they’d run. We’d try sneaking, they’d run. We’d try cornering them, they’d still run. It was the most cardio either of us had done in years.

After about the fiftieth failed attempt (and several sore muscles later), we finally decided to call in reinforcements.

The Cavalry Arrives (With Actual Horsepower)

 My husband’s buddy—another Army veteran and current farmer—came out with his wife, and we borrowed a side-by-side from the farmer who owns the land we lease. Now we had wheels. The plan? Use the side-by-sides to separate the calf and his mama from the herd and get this job done.

So there we were:

• My husband was on foot (again).

• I was driving one side-by-side.

• Our buddy and his wife were in the other.

We revved up and started moving. Round and round we went, cutting them off, steering them, and praying no one hit a hole and flipped. After some expert maneuvering (and a lot of luck), we got the calf and his mama separated. That’s when the real fun started.

The Flying Tackle

Our buddy got close enough to the calf and—no kidding—launched himself out of the moving vehicle and tackled that 150-pound calf like it was a football game and he was going for the winning sack.

Right about then, mama cow realized what was happening and came in hot.

My husband came sprinting over the hill. I floored it toward the calf. Our buddy held on for dear life. I jumped out, grabbed a stick, and started yelling and swinging like a crazy woman to keep that angry mama off the guys.

Meanwhile, our buddy’s wife got the vet on a video call, and the men got to work.

Field Medicine, Ranch Style

First order of business? Castration. (Sorry, little guy. It’s just business.)

Next up: checking out his foot. The vet confirmed there wasn’t anything left in the wound—looked like he’d stepped on a thorn. The fix? Antibiotics and painkillers.

Here’s how you give a calf a shot:

1. Mix the meds while keeping an eye on the angry 1,400-pound mother cow who still wanted to kill us.

2. Inject them into the calf’s neck while he flails around, unhappy with the situation.

3. Drop everything and go back to keeping mama from stomping you into the ground when she hears her baby bawl.

I gave the first shot, then had to abandon my supplies to chase off the mama cow again. Our buddy’s wife finished up the second injection, and finally—finally—we let the calf go.

Victory, Sweet Victory

The next day? That little guy wasn’t limping anymore. He was bouncing around, happy as can be, completely unaware of the chaos and near-death experiences we went through to fix him up.

As for me? That was my first real cowgirl experience, and I think I’m hooked. Nothing beats the sense of pride from accomplishing a hard task, even if it involves chasing cows, dodging hooves, and playing rodeo clown with a very angry mama.

Lesson learned? Next time, we’re getting a proper cattle-working setup—because I’m not sure my heart (or my legs) can handle another round of cattle wrangling on foot.