Last Thursday, our cattle vet came out to check on Big Mama and start the AI process. He palpated her and inserted the CIDR. On Monday, I pulled the CIDR and gave her a shot, expecting things to go as planned.
But this morning, while feeding our Corrientes, I noticed Big Mama had stringy, bloody discharge. She looked uncomfortable, uninterested in food. Then, at 8:45 am, she started pushing while standing. My stomach dropped.
I called the vet’s office, but the person who answered wasn’t the vet. They said they’d pass along the message and call me back. That was at 8:55 am. I messaged my husband, flooding him with videos and pictures. Something was wrong—I knew it.
By 9:05, I saw Big Mama lie down as I cleaned the horse stalls. Suddenly, she let out a deep, gut-wrenching moo. I walked over and saw her water bag coming out.
Panic set in. We had NO idea she was pregnant. The vet had literally checked her last week! I was alone. No vet. No husband. Just me, watching this unfold. I sent a picture to my little brother, Brett. He said it looked like she was either aborting or going into premature labor. But that made no sense—we were supposed to AI her TOMORROW.
Then, out of nowhere, she started pushing. By 9:10, she was lying down, hooves barely visible. I started freaking out.
I felt everything all at once—
Anger that no one had realized she was pregnant.
Fear that I might have to pull another lifeless baby from its mother.
Happiness that I was there for her.
Heartache that she was struggling so much when this should have been her seventh smooth delivery.
I had Brett on speaker, guiding me through every step. But I wasn’t ready. No chains. No towels. No gloves. She was in a pen that wasn’t even clean since we were AI’ing her tomorrow.
The hooves came out enough for me to grab them. I braced my feet against a pole, pulling as she pushed. Five, maybe ten minutes passed. The legs emerged, then the tongue. My heart pounded. I had to make sure she didn’t suck the face back in—if she did, the baby could suffocate.
I held on for dear life to those slippery legs, praying. Mama pushed again, and I pulled with everything in me. She looked at me with the softest, most grateful eyes as if to say, “Thank you, Mom.”
Then the baby got stuck.
I urged Big Mama to stand, hoping gravity would help. As she pushed, I pulled again, and finally, the calf fell to the ground. I adjusted its tiny body, cleared its nose… and suddenly, it shook its head. It was ALIVE.
I broke down. The weight of everything—fear, relief, exhaustion—hit me all at once. I wanted to cry, scream, celebrate. I had been so scared of letting Mama down, of letting this baby down.
I called my husband, sobbing. I couldn’t calm down. He sent my mother-in-law to check on me, and Brett’s wife, Heather, came too. I was not okay.
Then the vet finally texted me. “If you hadn’t been there, neither Mama nor baby would have made it.”
That moment—this entire morning—was terrifying, beautiful, heartbreaking, and joyful all at once. And I will never, ever forget it. 
Credit to respective owner
This morning was unlike any other, and I still can’t quite put into words why it hit me so hard. I’ve pulled a dead calf before. I stayed calm, helping an older vet who didn’t have the strength. We used chains, pulled, and accepted the loss as part of life. But today… today was different. It felt like my heart left my body. I was completely out of control, overwhelmed by emotions I couldn’t manage.
