Grass Tetany Merry-Go-Round 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I pulled into Boeckel’s driveway off Old Holley Road and expected to find Rein, but there was no sign of anyone. I was heading to the house when I saw Rein coming around the barn on his tractor.

“I thought I had misunderstood you for a minute,” I said as Rein brought the tractor to a stop beside my truck.  

“After I got to thinking about things, I figured I better get the tractor to take you out to the cow,” Rein said. “She is down on the far side of this pasture that I farmed and seeded this year. It is pretty lush right now and a little damp. You can throw your stuff on the back here and climb up beside me, and we will be off. That way, we don’t have to worry about your truck getting stuck on the hillside.”

All loaded, we headed out through the new pasture. The grass was lush and probably close to what could be called knee-deep. The cow, a black-baldy, was down and struggling to get up when we pulled up beside her.

“This is probably grass tetany,” I said. “She just has had a little too much of this pasture.”

“So, what am I suppose to do with all this grass?” Rein asked. 

“Let’s look at her first and make sure I am talking to you about the right stuff,” I said. “If this is grass tetany, we need to be pretty gentle with her. Some of these gals will be on the fight when they finally get on their feet. And with her horns, we don’t want her after us.”

Rein watched as I examined the cow. I collected a blood tube for testing at the clinic. Then I started an IV with a combination of a calcium and magnesium infusion. 

“This has to go slow,” I said. “I think you must have found her pretty early. She doesn’t look too bad. I would guess she will be up after this one bottle.”

“Why the blood?” Rein asked. 

“That is just insurance,” I said. “The diagnosis is usually confirmed with a favorable response to treatment. But sometimes, these cows will be down for a day or two. If she doesn’t get right up, I will have a sample to check to make sure of the diagnosis.”

“I am not sure I understand what is wrong with her.” Rein said.

“Grass tetany is caused by a low magnesium level in the blood. Most of the time, there are also some other minerals below normal. Calcium and sometimes potassium is often low. I’m not quite sure, but I think the lush pastures just washes everything through the gut, so those minerals are not absorbed.”

“How do I prevent it? Rein asked. “I mean, I have all his damn grass, and I hear you say that is the cause.”

“Like your mother probably told you, all things in moderation,” I said. When I was a kid, we would string off a narrow section of a new field with an electric fence. Then every day, move the fence ten or twenty yards, giving the cows a new section. They make better use of the grass that way, concentrating their grazing to a small area, and there is not enough grass to cause a problem like this cow suffered.”

“That might work. That way, I am not out there chasing cows out of the field after a couple of hours,” Rein said.

I finished the IV infusion and started putting up my stuff. After I had everything back on the tractor, I planned to give the old cow a good slap on the butt to see if she would get up right away.

“Sometimes, these gals are on the fight when they first get up,” I said. “You might want to crawl up on the tractor before I roust her up.”

I still had the nose tongs in my hand.  I went over and slapped her across the butt with a loop of the rope. That proved to be a bit of a mistake.

She scrambled to her feet and let out a bellow. Then she turned, bucked a couple times, and came charging at me. I turned to seek refuge from the tractor and almost knocked Rein down. He obviously was not on the tractor.

We started around the tractor, and luckily, it took a few seconds for the cow to negotiate the corner around the front of the tractor. This gave us time to get to the opposite side of the tractor.

It didn’t take her long to get her bearings and come around after us. We were able to keep the tractor between us. The cow was bucking and snorting as she chased us around and around the tractor. This wasn’t going to turn out well if we didn’t get up on the tractor.

“Rein, you get up on the tractor on the next turn,” I said. “I will give her a slap across her nose with the rope and slow her down enough to give you time.”

I stayed at the front of the tractor, and Rein was back trying to climb up into the seat when the cow came around the corner. I slapped her across the nose with the rope. That stopped her for a moment, and I made a mad dash to get up on the tractor.”

“That’s the most excitement I have had in a while,” Rein said. “What caused that?”

“That’s a first for me, but they say that it is common for these cows to come up on the fight,” I said. “Let’s just drive out of here, and she will calm down if she is left alone for a couple of hours.”

“Do I need to do anything for her?” Rein said.

“You give her a couple of hours and then drive her into the barn,” I said. “She needs to be on dry hay for a couple of days and some extra magnesium in her minerals. I would play it safe. I would herd her with the tractor. Don’t walk out there on foot.”

“I have some minerals set out, but I am not sure they spend much time at the box.”

“You need to check that it has some magnesium in it. I think you could probably get a few magnesium blocks from Stan. They might use a new block better than a mineral box that has been out there all spring.”

Rein got a half dozen new mineral blocks with high magnesium and ran an electric fence across the pasture to portion it out. He never had any other problems. I remain thankful that he took me out to the cow on the tractor. I am not sure what would have happened if we had walked out there.

Photo by Bulat Khamitov from Pexels.

A Difficult Delivery

D. E. Larsen, DVM

It was early when the phone rang. I had just stepped out of the shower and hurried to answer it, so Sandy could get a few more minutes of sleep.

“Doc, this is Bob Wilson. You have been out here a couple of times before,” Bob said. “I have a heifer down in the field, and I have to get to work. Do you think you get out here and take care of her this morning?”

“Sure, Bob, I remember your place,” I said. “Is the ground firm enough that I can drive out to where she is located?”

“Yes, it is dry as a bone out here this spring,” Bob said. “I really don’t know what is going on with her. She was fine last night. I haven’t been down there to check her out, but looking at her, she might be calving.”

“The problem, Bob, is sometimes when you think a cow is down, and the vet shows up, she is up and running,” I said. “You don’t want to have to pay for me to chase a cow.”

“Yes, I know that, but this morning I don’t have any choice,” Bob said. “The wife and kids are away visiting her folks, and I can’t miss work this morning. So I am just going to have to risk it.”

“Just so you understand,” I said. “I will get out there as soon as I can this morning. Then, I will either give you a call at work or leave a note for you when I am done.”

•••

I could see the heifer as I drove along the field below the road on the way to Wilson’s house. She definitely looked like she was in labor. And she looked way too young to be delivering a calf.

I got out and opened the gate to the lower pasture, and closed it behind me. I could never bring myself to leave a gate open. My grandfather’s words always rang in my ears. “It is better to close the gate than to wish that you had,” he always said.

I pulled the truck up beside the heifer. She struggled slightly but flopped her head back down when it is evident that she couldn’t get up. 

I got out of the truck and got a rope around her neck, just in case she did get up. Of course, I knew better than to tie a cow to the truck, but I had no other choice in the case.

Once I had her tied, I got a look at the problem. And what a mess we had. She was in labor. The calf’s head and feet were present at the vulva, but obviously, the calf was oversized for this young heifer. But there was more to the story.

The and feet and most of the muzzle on the calf had been eaten away, likely by one or more coyotes. “

I hope that the calf was dead when that happened,” I thought to myself. It must have been gruesome for the heifer to endure the feast and be unable to do anything about it.

I surveyed the far edge of the pasture. There, at the far corner, stood a lone coyote. He was watching the heifer and me, probably hoping for a little more of a breakfast.

I carefully examined her tail and vulva. A couple of bite wounds on her vulva, and the end of her tail were damaged beyond repair.

I scrubbed her up and explored the birth canal. Everything seemed okay. I hooked up my calf puller to the foot legs of the calf and applied a moderate amount of traction. They came along well until the hips contacted the pelvis, and then it was all stop.

According to my training and opinion, a fetotomy was the only acceptable option with a dead calf in hip lock. Using a fetatome, it was a simple chore for me to divide the calf in front of its pelvis with a right-angle cut. Then, stringing the OB wire over the calf’s rump and bringing it out between his legs, the fetal pelvis could be easily divided. Once the cut was accomplished, the hindquarters were pulled out by hand, one quarter at a time. Her membranes followed in a gush. 

I cleaned up the tail wound and injected a little lidocaine for local anesthesia. There was not much tissue left to cut to amputate the tail several inches above the switch. I left the wound open.

I medicated her with some tetracycline powder in her uterus and gave her some long-acting sulfa boluses. Then I gave her a hefty dose of dexamethasone to reduce the inflammation around the nerves in her birth canal and hind legs.

I set her up on her sternum, and she looked much better. I gave her a good slap on the butt, and she tried to get up. Her efforts were not successful, but it showed that she had some function in her hind legs. Hopefully, she would be up by this afternoon.

I was concerned that the coyotes would be back with the calf parts lying next to the heifer. I had never heard of a near-adult loss to coyotes, but if she could not get up, the coyotes might be temped to attack her.

I drug the calf parts about twenty yards off to the side of the field. I wasn’t going to do that to the membranes. 

•••

“Bob, I took care of your heifer,” I said when I called Bob at his office. “It was a real mess. She was down, unable to get up with the calf stuck in the birth canal. Coyotes had eaten the nose and feet off the calf and most of the end of her tail. The calf was dead, and I had to cut him into a few pieces to get him out. She was looking better when I left, but she was not quite able to stand. I am hopeful that by the time you get home, she will be on her feet.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Bob said. “Sounds like a real mess. I will try to get out of here a little early and get home to check on her.”

“I moved the calf parts away from her, just in case the coyotes returned. But I would be best if you disposed of them if she is not up when you get home. Give me a call, and I will run by this evening and check her if she is not on her feet.”

“Do you think she is going to be okay?” Bob asked.

“I think so, Bob,” I said. “When a calf is stuck in the birth canal, the heifer gets some nerve damage. That is often temporary, especially when it is not complicated with a lot of traction. I think that she will be up by the time you are home.”

•••

The heifer was on her feet when Bob got home in the early afternoon, and Bob could get the calf parts buried.

Bob called the county trapper, and they were able to eliminate some coyotes from the farm. It was probably not enough to solve the coyote problem, but enough to make Bob and his wife feel that they had got some justice for the calf.

Photo by Dylan Ferreira on Unsplash

From the Archives, one year ago

A Hasty Exam