The Birth and Death of Miracle

I grew up in rural southern Ontario. Our house sat on a lot of land on my grandfather's farm. From an early age, I was exposed to all the rigors of farm life and the stark reality of life and death.

One such experience will remain with me foreverThough I had saw chickens, ducks and geese hatch, I was unaware of the actual birthing process. Both my father and grandfather were quite adamant that we children not be present when breeding and birthing activities were taking place.

When I was ten years old, something happened that made me realize how fragile life is. Grandma and Grandpa weren't home, which was very unusual.  Other members of the family were helping out at a neighboring farm. Uncle Willie, who had been at the barn doing the chores hurried into the house. Where is everyone?" he asked anxiously.

"Gone," I replied, from where I sat at the window watching a Monarch butterfly fluttering among the flowers in the garden.

"Come on," he urged, grabbing my hand. "I need your help."

As we entered the warm interior of the barn, the usual sounds and smells greeted us. But there was another sound – the sound of a cow bawling. Betty, the black and white Holstein, was lying in her stall, snout raised, bellowing. I realized at once that she must be about to give birth. She'd been due to deliver the week before but no calf had appeared. The menfolk had been watching her carefully for any sign that might indicate her calf was in trouble. I had overheard Grandpa telling my uncle that he had turned the calf earlier in the week. He'd said the calf had a strong heartbeat and all seemed to be well.

Though I had never witnessed an actual birthing before, I had heard the adults speaking of the process. As my uncle and I approached Betty, I realized something was dreadfully wrong. Instead of a head crowning, one leg protruded from Betty's womb.

All animals are important on a farm. My uncle and I scurried around collecting rope, gloves and disinfectant. Uncle Willie tied the rope securely to the calf's hoof and instructed me to pull as hard as I could when he gave the word. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow as he assisted the calf into the world by reaching inside of Betty and guiding the calf down the birth canal as I pulled.

After what seemed an eternity, a wet black and white calf lay quivering behind his mother. Immediately, he struggled to stand. I stared in awe at the wonder of his birth. My assistance in helping to bring such a helpless creature into the world filled me with delight. I had just witnessed the miracle of life.

I helped Uncle Willie finish the chores and put the calf in a pen after it had suckled. I stood for a long time, gazing at the calf and reflecting on the miracle that had occurred. Uncle Willie practically had to pull me out of the barn.

That evening I danced with excitement as I told my parents what I had done that afternoon. I talked of nothing but Betty's calf for days.

One afternoon Grandpa called for me to come to the barn. Upon my arrival, he told me that because I had helped with the birth, I was to have the honor of naming the calf. I thought for a long time. Hope certainly would fit but was not appropriate for a male calf. I remember thinking back to the day the tiny calf was born.

"Miracle," I told Grandpa.

Over the next few months, I watched Miracle grow. He was a healthy calf and gave no sign that his difficult birth had affected him. When I stepped into the barn, he would bawl until I went to visit him. By the time a year had passed, a firm bond had been created between calf and child.

Then one day Grandpa told me that Miracle had been sold. I'd known for months this day would eventually come but still was not prepared to part with my friend. It seemed my heart was broken and I had a difficult time accepting the inevitable.

The day came for Miracle to leave. I walked to the barn, head bent, watching my slow moving feet intently and trying to swallow the lump in my throat. When I was halfway to the barn, I heard a truck turn into the driveway. I looked up, wondering who had come to take my beloved Miracle away.To my surprise and delight, the truck belonged to our neighbor.

My heart soared. Miracle was going to live across the road. I would be able to see him as he grazed in the pasture.

When the men had Miracle loaded, he stuck his head over the gate. I walked up the ramp and scratched his forelock. He shut his eyes, enjoying the attention. As I walked back down the ramp, Miracle gave a low moo. I turned and smiled at him.

Over the next few years I saw Miracle in the pasture and even visited him. If I were outside, he would lumber to the fence and bawl until I went to give him a scratch. Then, one frigid night, Miracle died. He was seven years old.

Though Miracle has been gone for many years, I will never forget the adorable calf that entered the world on that afternoon so long ago. I experienced a miracle not only on the day he was born but for all time. He was and is my Miracle.