Page 61 of Not Just for Christmas

The heifer let out a moan and pushed. I held firm to the calf’s front legs, hoping they would appear, but the little one seemed stuck.

‘Jeez, I’ve just seen where your hand is.’ Dylan winced. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘It will be. Can you pass me that rope?’

‘Er, sure.’ Dylan located the length of rope we used for this purpose and handed it to me.

‘Easy, girl, easy,’ I soothed the mother-to-be. ‘You’re doing great.’

‘So are you.’ Dylan looked a little queasy as I slowly tied the rope around the calf’s feet, taking care not to damage either mother or baby. ‘Can I do anything? Please say no.’

I laughed. ‘You can help once the calf is out. I think we’re ready, come and watch.’

Dylan squatted down beside me. ‘I’m scared.’

‘You and me both,’ I admitted. ‘When I had Sam, I was in a comfortable bed and surrounded by professionals. All this poor cow has got is an accidental farmer and a musician. What could possibly go wrong?’

‘Sounds like the start of a Netflix movie,’ said Dylan, making me giggle.

I was so glad he was here; even doing nothing, his presence was comforting.

I gently began to pull the calf free from its mother. One of her back legs kicked and I tightened my grasp, determined not to rush anything and cause her any more discomfort.

‘Atta girl, mama,’ Dylan murmured to the heifer, smoothing his hand gently over her belly. She stared at him and made a long low noise.

‘Almost there,’ I panted, holding firm on the rope.

A moment later the rest of the calf birthed in a rush. First its head, then its body and back legs. I slipped the rope from its feet and lay it down.

The little brown-and-white calf was tiny, lifeless and limp.

‘It’s not moving,’ said Dylan. ‘Is that normal?’

I wiped its airways with my hand. ‘Come on, baby.’

The calf lifted its head and made a noise, which was a cross between a cough and a moo.

Dylan let out a low whistle. ‘Hallelujah!’

‘Panic over.’

We smiled at each other with relief. I showed him how to rub the calf down with straw and he cleaned it up a little while I checked the sex.

‘It’s a girl,’ I said, laying the calf under her mum’s nose. ‘A new recruit for the milking herd.’

‘That was awesome.’ Dylan said huskily. ‘You were awesome.’

I looked at him as he handed me my tea. His eyes were brimming with tears, and I felt a rush of warmth for him. ‘You big softie.’

‘Can’t help it.’ He laughed self-consciously and brushed a hand over his face to wipe his eyes. ‘It’s you. You just get on with it, all by yourself. I think you’re incredible.’

‘Thanks, but she did most of the hard work,’ I said, secretly proud of myself. ‘And before we know it, she’ll be doing it all over again.’

He sat down beside me and for a few minutes we listened to the radio and just watched as the newborn calf shuffled closer to its mother, apparently totally relaxed despite swapping the warm confines of the womb for a draughty shed. The cow lowered her head to her calf and nuzzled her, her long tongue curling over her little face in loving strokes. She was going to be a good mum, I could already tell.

‘So.’ Dylan cleared his throat. ‘There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘If it’s whether you can deliver the second twin by yourself so I can go to bed, the answer’s yes.’ I sipped my tea. ‘I’m knackered.’