THE DELIVERY

WARNING: Story contains detailed description of a birth.

* * *

Samuel Camden glared at the telephone. I don’t want you ringin’ no more ‘less you got somethin’ good to tell me, he thought. He then began exploring the few remaining options he had available. 

The forecast that predicted blizzard conditions and sub-zero temperatures had proven accurate. Where the meteorologists had gotten it wrong, unfortunately, was the duration of the storm. Nature, once again, had shown just how unreliable it can be. The cold front was slow-moving to begin with, but now had stalled. It just sat there, and updated reports had new projected snowfall amounts in record numbers throughout most of the county. Camden’s Farm was undoubtedly one of the areas targeted by the bulk of the white stuff. Sam had already estimated four foot drifts on his last trip to the barn and was now facing another day of steady high winds and snow.  

His wife, Sadie, was snowbound five hours away. She had gone to visit her sister for the pre-holidays and had, after some persuasive campaigning, taken their daughter Jaime along. They had expected to be home yesterday, but the blizzard had put the kibosh on that. Now, here it was, Christmas Eve and it looked like the first Christmas holiday in 22 years – and their eleventh one with Jaime - he’d spend alone. Well, not entirely alone.

He couldn’t leave the animals, of course. The property needed tending, even if there hadn’t been murmurings of a winter cold front moving through. And Sadie had been right to want to visit her sister Amy. Both their parents, Sam’s in-laws, had passed during the preceding year.  Then Amy had gotten a case of shingles that temporarily left her unable to care for herself.   Jaime wanted to visit more particularly with Amy's dogs, Bailey and Baxter. Besides, they’d be back in time for Christmas morning. Wrong!

Sam knew it was time to get bundled up and go check the barn again. They had a prize angus in labor, or near enough to require regular inspection. Cocoa Nib had already displayed the first step of the birthing process. She’d isolated herself. They had their separate pens throughout the spacious barn, but she had pressed herself into the corner of hers, facing away from the others. This usually happens 24 hours prior to the actual birth but, then again, you just never know.

Sam had called his close friend and veterinarian, Dave Windmere, to see whether he’d be able to come, if needed. When bad weather made the roads impassable, Dave had a trusty mare named Taxi he would ride to properties in need of his services. Trouble tonight was, Dave explained, Taxi had an abscess under one of her hooves and couldn’t be shoed again until it was healed.  Roads were closed and the sand plows wouldn’t be in service until visibility improved, and that wasn’t expected until tomorrow morning. 

Dave suggested Sam brush up on his bovine facts and veterinary techniques; Dave had gifted him a book on the subject last Christmas. Up until then, Sam had assumed it was a joke, more of Dave’s dry veterinary humor. He pretended to think what a good idea that was and said so, while at the same time searching his memory for where the heck the book could be.

So, apparently his options came down to two things: locating Dave’s book and becoming a speed reader and, two, hoping against hope Cocoa Nib could hold out until real help could arrive. Sam prepared a dish of Kitty Vittles for their cats, Oyster and Pickles, and made sure they had fresh water.  It was time he head to the barn and he had no way of knowing when he’d be back.

Sam went to the mud room and replaced his work boots with the waterproof mukluks he’d picked up at The Trading Post, the closest thing to a department store the area had to offer. He donned coat, scarf, gloves and his fleece trapper hat with the ear flaps that gathered under his chin.  He dashed into the kitchen, grabbed an apple and stuffed it into his pocket. He gathered the sheathed knife and flashlight kept near the back door and paused to savor the warmth of his home before bracing himself to meet the elements.

The door nearly flew out of his hand when Sam tried opening it just a crack. He fought for control as he stepped out onto the back porch. The snow was up to his knees and he was careful not to have it slide into the doorway.  It was difficult enough just to shut the door securely behind him. Sam paused and assessed the conditions before venturing further. 

The porch light was on but you could hardly tell. The bulb was muted by steady sheets of blinding snow that swirled in and around.  Some other night, Sam might have admired the beauty of it, but he was keenly aware of the dangers. He added a third concern to his list: making his way to the barn and back without getting lost.

Such tragedy had occurred in town before, a farmer losing his sense of direction in weather similar to this and perishing from the elements mere feet away from safety. To prevent that happening to Sam, Sadie had demanded over the phone days ago that he secure rope from the back porch to the barn. He’d humored her then; he blessed her now.      

He saw that the barn lights were on, a small miracle. That meant the heat was on, too. They had a backup generator, but it was loud as a freight train and the whites of the cattle and horses’ eyes would showcase their fear until they either grew accustomed to the noise or electricity was restored.

The wind alone was deafening. It howled through the trees with punishing gusts that threatened to knock a grown man down.  Sam slowly made his way by grasping the rope, his eyes nearly closed to avoid the sting of whipping nettles of snow that didn't let up. Then he heard the sound he really feared, the bellow of a laboring mama-to-be.  He quickened his pace as much as he dared and, within minutes, arrived at the barn door.

His fingers felt like cement as he fumbled with the latch. As quickly as he could, he slipped inside and secured the heavy double-door behind him. He brushed off snow and then shook out his coat, hat and gloves. He hung all on hooks in the tiny alcove to the left of the entrance to the barn. 

He went to Cocoa’s pen located at the far end of the main area that housed twenty-two head of cattle and three horses. All was quiet, save the relentless wind and Cocoa’s labored breath and longful mooing that escaped between moans. Tension filled the air. The other animals were quiet but alert.  

By the time Sam got to Cocoa, he saw another thing he had been dreading. She was lying on her side in the corner, belly huge and heaving.  She’d calved one time prior to this and had given birth standing and fairly quickly, without event. Sam knew enough about birthing to know that what he was looking at could mean a very long night .

Sam headed back to the alcove where Dave left some of his supplies. He’d need gloves, a bucket of clean water, probably the flask of courage he kept on the shelf behind the bovine first aid kit and . . . wait a minute.  The book! He saw the title, “Bovine Facts and Veterinary Techniques,” and beneath that, “The step-by-step guide for those times you need to act as the vet you never expected nor wanted to be.” Sam’s celebration was cut short by Cocoa Nib's bellowing plea. Sam quickly gathered his materials.    

He whispered encouraging words as he made his way past the familiar others. “Hey, there, Patsy, Loretta. Merry Christmas Eve, ladies. Don’t you worry, Waylon, everything’s gonna be fine. Santa’s got somethin’ special for Cocoa this year and Dr. Dave is stuck at home. Poor Taxi’s got a bum leg. I can sure use some support, so if y’all want to be part of the cheering section, be my guest. Let’s all try keepin’ the faith together.”

He got to Cocoa’s pen and took a deep breath. He’d never minded the scent of hay and manure. He’d been around it all his life. He, therefore, had no qualms about taking a deep breath and, after a long exhale, muttering under his breath with as much conviction as he could muster, “Here goes nothin’.”

He knelt next to Cocoa and ran a hand over her belly. He felt her shudder and then he felt something else. 

“Stay put, darlin’. Let me check something.” 

Sam took out Dave’s book and sat near Cocoa’s head, giving her a rub when she seemed receptive to it. Mostly, he could tell she was lost inside her body and waiting for salvation, in whatever form it may come.  

Sam checked the table of contents and flipped the pages to get right to the birthing section. As he read, he began to sweat. Sam swallowed a few times, closed his eyes and tried to picture Dave going through these motions.  Another frantic, pain-laced bellow from Cocoa brought him to attention.

He pulled on the rubber gloves that reached to his shoulders. 

“I can do this.”

Sam moved to Cocoa’s back end. He gently moved her tail out of the way.

“I really don’t want to do this.”

Just then, Cocoa thrashed her head, bellowing loudly. Her eyes were wild.

“I have to do this.”

Sam shut off his mind and turned his determination on high. He carefully reached inside Cocoa and felt. There it was, a tail attached to hindquarters. That meant the calf was a breech. It also meant the largest part of the baby coming out first. Mama wouldn’t have the benefit of the front legs making way, followed by the head in a nice orderly progression; that is, unless he could get the hind legs up and facing out. Then things should happen quickly.  And, frankly, they had to if the baby wasn’t going to suffocate.

Sam forced himself to remember what he’d just read and gently pushed baby back inside as far as he could. This was to hopefully create enough space to find the hock joint, the calf’s hip, to readjust that leg’s placement. He worked slowly, feeling his way, determined but scared to death of making a wrong move.  He located what he hoped was the joint he was looking for and gently maneuvered the leg until he felt the small hoof. He’d taken note of the need to cover the baby's hoof with his hand so it wouldn’t damage mama’s womb.

Then he slowly twisted the leg so that he could inch it towards him. When the leg was free so that he could stretch it into proper position, he wanted to cheer but there was no time. This part was complicated. He had to secure the leg with rope so it couldn't slip back in again. He remembered watching Dave perform this part and mimicked what he could remember and then did his best to improvise the rest.

By this time he was drenched from his own nerves, heart thumping in his ears, eyes wide. He was aware of nothing else in the universe but the task at hand. When Cocoa would protest, he shut off his senses and worked harder. He wanted to hurry but he, more importantly, wanted to do right by the innocent lives he held in both hands.  He had a fleeting awareness that he'd never felt more alive than he did right now.

Those thoughts gave way as Sam prepared to repeat what he’d just accomplished with the baby’s other leg. He secured the rope under his knee. He was only slightly more confident this time. He knew how to find the hock joint and lift just enough to feel the rest of the leg and cover the hoof as he gently twisted and adjusted it towards him. 

Following an indeterminate amount of time, both hooves were in Sam’s hand. He gave himself, mama and baby a moment to rest and then gently but firmly pulled. Sam could sense that Cocoa was nearly spent and that it was time for nature to intervene while it still could. Sam felt new contractions as the hindquarters of her calf slowly began to appear. Guided by Cocoa’s body, Sam assisted when able until, finally, baby’s torso, head and long front legs emerged, a soggy, matted wonder. 

Sam allowed himself a moment to take in the miracle. It was a she, and she was a beauty. When he saw the calf’s umbilical cord was severed, which happens naturally during birthing, he realized he needed to sterilize the area immediately to avoid infection.  He forced himself to stand and hurry to Dave’s supplies in the alcove. He tripped twice on the way, picked himself up, and then began searching for iodine. That’s what the book had specified. It was called a dip. Where the . . . oh, good.

He grabbed what he needed and raced back to Cocoa and baby. Cocoa was already twisted around and sniffing her calf.  Sam went to tend to the newborn, and suddenly pulled up short.  The calf, if he wasn’t mistaken, had a blueish tint and had yet to move. No, no, no, no, Sam thought.  Where’s the book, where’s the book?  

The book was where he’d left it. Sam grabbed it and, consciously though frantically breathing deep to help clear his brain, found the troubleshooting section. He concentrated furiously and then set the book face-down. He knelt next to the calf and stood baby on all fours, supporting its head to straighten the air passages and hopefully clear any obstructions that might be blocking oxygen from getting to its lungs.  

Come on, baby. Come on. honey!  Sam was desperate. Tears ran down his face without his being aware.  It wasn’t working. Sam listened for a heartbeat but was too panicked to know what he was listening for. It was all just a roar in his head. There was one thing left to try. Cocoa, in the meantime, was paying close attention and appeared ready to regain her footing and come to her offspring’s aid.

Sam laid the baby on her side.  He then located a length of clean straw. He used it to tickle inside the baby’s nostril.  Nothing. Please, please, please, he pleaded. He then did the same with the other nostril.

The calf suddenly coughed, and then inhaled. Sam thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. He gently applied the iodine mixture to the calf’s mid-drift and then moved baby closer to mama. He stood by as Cocoa went back to sniffing and then licking her calf.  Sam had no capacity other than to play on repeat in his mind, thank you thank you thank you, while alternating laughing and crying.  

* * *

Sam awoke to Rodney the rooster’s wake-up crow. He’d forgotten how much more startling it sounded closeup as opposed to being in the house. He sat up and stretched, then ran his hands through his hair to remove any straw tangled in there. This was not his first night sleeping on a hay bed and he felt pretty good.  Cocoa! 

Mom and baby were both up. Sam smiled as he watched the calf having her first breakfast, while Cocoa chewed some grain left in her bucket from the day before. Sam then named her after something he, for the first time, knew the true meaning of.

"Welcome, little Bliss. Merry Christmas."

The wind had subsided and it was lighter out than Sam expected. The windows were covered with frost and snow, but Sam had the sense that the worst of it was over.

As he walked the length of the barn and passed by the other cattle, he took stock of what he saw and felt satisfaction. The animals took note of him as he passed, some with impatient snorts that signaled he was late with his chores. 

“Well, y'all were here so you know I was a little occupied last night. How ‘bout cuttin’ me some slack?”

His comments were met with a chorus of moos and more snorting, as if to say, well, you’re not busy now, where’s breakfast?

“Coffee first, friends.”

As Sam passed the horse stalls, he remembered the apple he still carried in his pocket. He used his knife to cut it into thirds.

“Here you go, fellas. Little stocking stuffer.”

The horses nickered their approval.   

The blizzard had, indeed, ended. It took some effort for Sam to make it back to the house, but he had hot coffee on his mind.  He cleared the way with the shovel they kept in the barn just enough so that he didn’t sink along the way. 

Once he cleared the doorway to the kitchen, he was greeted with Oyster and Pickles wrapping themselves around his legs, purring.  He was glad to see them, too.  He quickly discarded coat, hat, gloves, scarf and boots. Ahh.  

He prepared coffee, saw that all was as he’d left it the night before.  Once he had a hot mug in hand, he went to the phone and dialed.

“Hello.”

“Just wanted to say thanks.”

“Hey, buddy, Merry Christmas. Thanks?”

“Cocoa gave us a little heifer.  Pretty little thing.”

“That’s great! How was it?"

"We'll talk. I just had to say thanks. You, Cocoa Nib and this blizzard gave me my best Christmas to date. Just don’t tell Sadie.”

THE END