A Different Kind of Cowgirl

(Talk of the Town photos provided)
By Kelley Sheiss
The term "cowgirl" might conjure up visions of the old west, rodeo queens and performances of vintage country music singers, and while destinations in this country are home to such traditional cowgirls, there's another kind of "cow" girl. She's right here in Indiana and as far as Pennsylvania, Iowa, Tennessee and parts in between. Although she may not be readily identifiable by her every day appearance, her definition is simple - she loves cows.
I'm not sure when I officially became one of these non-traditional "cow" girls. I think it started back in college when we would halter break calves for the Little International, a livestock show for the ag students. Of course, my passion for all things bovine grew when I was crowned the Pennsylvania Cattleman's Queen back in 1991. Yes, even beef has royalty, but luckily my pageant phase was short-lived. Someone is probably saying "wait, I thought you were a pig girl?" (and there are others who are still laughing at the fact that I was a beef queen). "Pig" girl doesn't have near the verbal appeal as "cow" girl, but you're correct. Our primary livelihood on this farm is pigs and I thoroughly enjoy them, but the cows are truly near and dear to my heart. Very few, if any of the cows had names until I arrived on the scene. There's even more names to remember now that Dillon has started christening them with titles. 
We've got Boo-Boo, Brownie, Blaze and Bam-Bam.Frosty, Jamocha, Cappucino and Google. Patches, Pebbles, Dr. Pepper (our herd bull) and more. Last year we trended towards candy and coffee drinks. This year, Dillon and I have decided to go with cartoon names. While some remain unnamed, we already have Speedy, Daphne, Sandy Cheeks, Tweety, Alex, Minnie and Popeye. Each one has their own distinct personality, and there are few days that go by when I don't make time to walk through the barnyard, visiting with each one and providing an occasional scratch on the neck or belly rub to those who revel in the attention. This is one "cow" girl who can't wait for summer, when I can walk back the lane and watch the moms and babies scattered throughout the pasture. In the summer evenings, especially after a cool rain, you'll find the little ones running wildly around, sounding off with little snorts and trying out their own special dance moves.
If it's not obvious by now, most "cow" girls I know would probably prefer to spend more of their time with cows than with people. This time of year there are a few of us who will fret through the night at the thought of an impending delivery; we'll stop by the barn multiple times a day to check on new arrivals, and I will personally drive my husband nuts as I ask endless questions and impose my opinions on calf care. For those of us that have endured the delivery of a child, we may actually strain and wince as we help a mom deliver her calf. Within an hour, we can go from being perfectly clean, in our pjs and ready for bed to being covered in afterbirth and all the other "stuff" that comes with it. There's nothing quite like being part of the successful delivery of a calf, or watching secretly from a corner as a mother takes care of the duty all on her own. When we lose a baby, which can and does happen, it is unfortunate. The mood we feel is a combination of frustration, anger, despair and sorrow. Just as there is a wonderful feeling of watching a newborn calf try out their wobbly legs for the first time as they are taken care of by their mom, there is also an empty feeling of helplessness as one dies in your lap.
Recently, our friends called to say they had a heifer in labor and she needed some help. It was 8:45 p.m. and American Idol was in progress. We bid farewell to Simon and loaded up in the truck with the necessary equipment. Dillon was thrilled his bedtime was delayed significantly, and he always enjoys observing the delivery process. Since Donnie's brother and dad weren't around, there was a lot less yelling and Dillon and I were actually able to help out this time. As Donnie worked the equipment to pull the calf, he had Dillon hold the cow's tail. As she started to push, Donnie says to me quite nonchalantly: "get your gloves off and stick your hands up there. " Ah, terms of endearment from my farmer husband. He wanted me to help guide the head out. I didn't think twice, but as my hands made their way up the birth canal of a cow, I had a fleeting appreciation for ob/gyn doctors. Maternal liquid and other "stuff" (if you haven't figured out what stuff is by now, it's a nice term for poop!) oozed down my arms. I then smiled and thought "if my parents and all those snobby kids I went to high school with could see me now!" As the head came out, I looked at Dillon as his eyes were fixed on the process. It's times like these I tend to forget he's only eight, and I can only hope he does not detail this event during community circle at school tomorrow. I am thinking seventh grade health class will be a breeze for him. While the calf had a heartbeat, he was not breathing. Donnie had me do chest compressions while he blew air into his mouth. It was bovine CPR. The mom diligently called to her baby and licked him off with encouragement. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes blinked, he shook his head and finally a little "moo" escaped his mouth. When we were sure he was o.k., we headed back home. Tessa, his owner, called the next morning to say he was doing well. It was a great way to start the day.
A "cow" girl is as comfortable in a dress and heels as we are in overalls and muck boots. We clean-up pretty well, but boy can we get dirty, too. We drive SUV's, mini-vans and compact cars, although we are most comfortable in a pick-up truck, gator, or ATV. We have four parts to our wardrobe: casual clothes, dress or business clothes, barn clothes and goin' showin' clothes. Our goin' showin' wardrobe typically consists of overpriced jeans (unless we stand in line at midnight on Thanksgiving for the buy one get one free sale), at least two pairs of boots, a bling belt (or two, or three) and a variety of chunky, funky jewelry. While a few of us still manage to maintain finely manicured hands, I have opted for the low-maintenance, gently used look that tolerates rope halters, regular washing, bottle feedings and straw bedding. After all, the cows don't mind what my hands look like, although I do fondly recall the days of regular manicures. Now any color on my nails (well, more like under my nails) is usually some shade of brown!
In the late summer when calves are weaned and getting ready to be sold, this is one of the few times when we look forward to wrangling an animal that is a good 200 to 300 pounds heavier than us. No tractors or donkeys here. The best way to halter break a calf is hang on and get 'em tied-up somewhere quick! I am first in line to take hold of the smaller, tamer ones, but once one lets out a loud bawl, I'll gladly turn him or her over to the guys.
We can handle a cattle blower just as easy as a hair dryer, and the comb we use generally sticks out of our back pocket. When you open our freezer, you'll find bags of colostrum nestled between the frozen jam and bags of mixed vegetables. For you green hands, colostrum is the first milk a cow produces when a calf is born. It contains important nutrients and antibodies that are vital to a calf's health. If, for some reason, a calf is unable to nurse its mom in the first hours of life, human intervention is needed and we provide colostrum via a bottle. Trying to milk a beef cow is like trying to litter box train a tiger, so we rely on our dairy farm neighbors to keep us supplied with colostrum.
We're poster gals for the "Beef. It's What's for Dinner" campaign and we're just as quick to show you a picture of our prize show animal as we are our child. A vacation for a "cow" girl is Hoosier Beef Congress, Indiana State Fair, or, if we're lucky enough, Louisville or Denver. At these shows, it is all things cattle. We're masters of crock-pot cooking and taking advantage of the free drink coupons offered by the hotels where we stay. We can sleep on show boxes, sit for extended periods of time on a bucket and style the most striking tail switches for the show ring (while styling our own hair can be a challenge). Although we'll rarely wake for our own beauty routine at 5 a.m., we will certainly rise at 3 or 4 a.m. to make sure cattle are washed, fed and ready for the show. Unlike our western counterparts, we may not wear hats, ride horses or live on a big ranch, but we love our cows. We also have another thing in common: we love our cowboys!
As I drove to town for a meeting the other day (in my business clothes), I noticed something was all over the steering wheel of my SUV. Often, my vehicle serves as back-up farm transportation, and I realized the last time I drove was when I was down at the other farm checking on the calves. I had kept my gloves on when I drove home and realized I must have had some residual calf "stuff" on them, which was transferred to my steering wheel. I smiled as I grabbed a wet wipe, cleaned it up and thought yup, I'm a "cow" girl. Sometimes you just gotta take a little bit of the country to town with you.
Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, live on the family farm in Etna Troy Township. They have a son, Dillon. She is also the program director for Leadership Whitley County.



