A TALE OF TWO VINNIES
Two years ago, indecently early on the morning after my birthday, The Roommate woke me up, and 30 minutes later I was cradling a newborn calf in my lap. I’ve never had a newborn anything anywhere near me before, and a cow was certainly not the gentlest introduction to this new experience. This is how much I knew about cows before this calf landed in my lap: nothing. You could not have picked a worse candidate to keep this baby alive. Thank god for the internet.
By the time The Roommate had found the little guy just after dawn that morning, he was already a few hours old. He was a large calf, and his mother had sadly died, presumably shortly after he was born. Despite his bulk, he was still physically fragile, and needed to feed soon before he became dehydrated. After some intense googling, I sent The Roommate to buy some colostrum powder (colostrum is the first milk that a mother produces - where would you even buy this??) while I set about trying to clean the poor thing up a bit. Soon after, I was bottle-feeding him. This was huge (for me). I mean, let’s put this in context here: people PAY to do stuff like this at petting zoos. And I was doing it basically in my backyard, cuddling a baby cow, my first real-life animal emergency ever, possibly helping to save a life. It was overwhelming - at the same time the kid in me was screeching “LOOK I’M SNUGGLING A COW!”
Farm doggo would really like a new friend.
Like most urbanites, I was always under the impression that calves were pretty hardy, could basically survive on grass or hay, and that this was more or less all that was required for them to thrive. WRONG. This guy had to be bottle fed 3 time a day, first with colostrum milk for the first few days, and then with a milk formula for cows. Not always a feasible task when you’re also working full time; luckily the petting-zoo syndrome kicked in and we had plenty of volunteers to do the midday feed. The proportions of formula to water had to be carefully measured too, otherwise they would either not be getting enough nutrients, or not enough hydration. Another interesting thing I learned: we already know cows have 4 stomachs. But did you know that at birth, only one of them (the fourth one, ironically) is functioning? That’s why it’s better to bottle/teat feed a calf instead of bucket feeding, because the teat ensures that the milk is going into the correct stomach - if it drinks from a bucket, there is a risk that the milk will instead go into the non-functioning rumen, which means the milk will not digest but instead ferment, causing something called “scour” in the calf which MAY kill it. Nor can you just let the calf start grazing on grass right away and use it as a lawnmower. This can also cause scouring, which, again, can kill it. (Learning about all of this was…stressful.) So for the first week or so, it was all about maintaining a delicate balance of formula, fresh hay (not easy to maintain when your cow insists on pooping EVERYWHERE), water, and slowly introducing it to a bit of grass. But he survived! Ten days in, we were confident that this guy would be fine.
But now we faced a different problem. He would need to start grazing regularly soon, but since the kennel area is effectively on one of our lawns, we needed to contain him so he wouldn’t say…accidentally end up in our pool. I make this reference because that nearly happened once (it was hectic, if you’ve ever tried herding a freaked out cow). Luckily, the ever resourceful Roommate had a bunch of temporary fencing lying around, and erected a giant barrier all around the kennel lawns so the little guy could stretch his legs more. It was also around this time that we decided to name him. I had just re-watched My Cousin Vinny for probably the 10th time the night before, and given the similarities I saw in him and Joe Pesci (small, scrappy, attitude), combined with the fact that one of his lifesavers (The Roommate) is Italian, we decided on Vinnie. Like a true bovine mobster. I do note the difference in spelling - Vinnie’s face just looked like it went better with the “ie”.
Soon, he was drinking over 6 litres of milk a day, and was addicted to it. As soon as he saw me approaching with his giant bottle, he’d come running, nearly knocking me over in his excitement. By the way, an excited hungry calf is a VERY messy and insistent eater, and I’d find myself regularly covered in an assortment of cow slime and formula. Quite the departure from my previous dry-clean only clothing. But I loved it. Even when he stomped on my feet. (Try to avoid wearing open-toed shoes.) He was affectionate, playful, and demanding, and was always up for a cuddle after feeding. Ever had a cow rest his head in your lap before? I remember squealing quietly to myself when it happened. We even got him a harness and leash when I started to take him out to the paddock for more serious grazing - I used to love seeing the look on people’s faces when I told them I was taking my cow for a walk (what, like that’s weird?).
I feel the need to point out that the lawn does NOT look like that anymore. This was taken before The Roommate dug up and re-seeded about 2 acres’ worth of lawn - now it looks like a velvety green carpet.
Over the next few months, Vinnie thrived. He’d run around the paddock in the afternoons with the dog, chasing one another, and then would retire to his little compound for a feed and a snuggle. He loved people and other animals, and would always pester us for snacks from the veggie garden. I don’t think he ever really knew he was a cow. He had become something of a novelty to the other cows on the farm, who would often sidle up to the fence line to peer and sniff at him. Vinnie, in return, could not be less interested in the herd, and often turned his back on them in disdain, preferring to keep his own company or hang with his humans.
We couldn’t keep him in our cow nursery forever, and so when Vinnie was about 4 months old, we moved him out to the paddock behind the house. He wasn’t pleased. Mostly because that meant no more milk, which in itself was a process to wean him off of. We wanted to encourage him to socialize with the other cows so he wouldn’t be lonely, but he still resisted their curiosity and continued to keep to himself. There would be about 200 cows grazing and hanging out in a group, and then you’d see little Vinnie, all by himself, happily grazing on his own about 50 metres away. While the other cows would run away when we approached, he’d happily trot up to us in anticipation of some attention and more importantly, snacks.
And then one day, Vinnie disappeared into the herd. As they lumbered along from paddock to paddock, we could no longer see the little black dot that would trail behind them, and I thought (with a little bit of sadness) that perhaps he had finally accepted that he was, in fact, a cow, and found a place among the others. I won’t lie, I was a little bit miffed that he seemed to have forgotten about his humans so quickly, but was glad that he wasn’t going to be a lonely, only cow. So imagine my surprise when, two weeks later, Vinnie suddenly reappeared. With a friend.
Where had this other guy come from? Apparently Vinnie had told him about his secret to the good life (get yourself some humans) and that was enough to convince this stumpy little guy to leave its mother, brethren and entire social network behind. Pretty soon it became clear that Vinnie’s new friend wasn’t going anywhere. Somehow the two had bonded, with Vinnie seeming to have taken on the role of older brother. He groomed the younger calf frequently, and enjoyed having a playmate to literally butt heads with.
Adorably, he also exhibited surprisingly protective behaviour towards the calf. We had always kept Vinnie harnessed, initially for his leash, and later on so that we could distinguish him from the herd. We did the same with the new calf but realized it was left on too tight and needed to loosen it. Unaccustomed to human contact, and already a bit spooked from having a harness put on him in the first place, the little guy was visibly stressed when we tried approaching him to adjust the harness. Vinnie seemed to sense his friend’s distress, and without fail, would quickly insert himself between us and the calf every time we attempted to go near it. Not to worry - we managed to fix the harness in the end and eventually the cows forgave us. But I was blown away by this display of sensitivity, and from a cow, no less - to feel and act on such compassion for another creature that he adopted…animals never fail to amaze me.
So, the newcomer obviously needed a name. We had noticed that, likely due to the persistent drought at the time, the calf seemed slightly stunted due to malnutrition, with his legs being quite a bit shorter than Vinnie’s. Not only were his legs short, but his front legs seemed slightly shorter than his back legs, so that he was perpetually on a slope. That being said, he was as wide as Vinnie, which made him kind of look like a giant sausage dog. “He’s like a mini version of Vinnie,” I remarked one day to The Roommate. And so Mini Vinnie became The Farm’s second official pet cow.
It was pleasing to watch their bond develop and unfold. Even though they were cows, the dynamics were no less complex and nuanced than those in a human relationship. They could be incredibly tender and attached at times, while other days would see them needing their own space, taking some time to eat and nap apart. Just like humans, they seem to have their bad days, one becoming irritable with the other, or jostling for dominance. But there is no doubt that these two belong together - as friend, brothers, a couple, who knows? - because even when they’re apart, it isn’t far, and usually, by the time the sun goes down, they look for one another to settle in for the night.
It’s been interesting to watch their individual personalities emerge over time as well. Vinnie tends to be the calmer, more patient one, a bit passive aggressive when he’s irritated with his humans. Mini Vinnie (or just plain Mini nowadays) is spunky, a glutton, suffers from FOMO and will not hesitate to show you (usually with his head) how he’s feeling when displeased. One thing they have in common though: they LOVE scratches. Vinnie with the brush; Mini prefers hands only and specifically on the top of his head. Vinnie is a bit of a treat snob and is very discerning about his snacks; Mini will eat almost anything you shove in front of his face. As a result, Mini is now about 1.5 times as wide as Vinnie, his name has become purely ironic, and he’s still a bit shorter - he doesn’t look like he should be able to run, but he does. Straight towards you if you have food.
Late last year, again due to the ongoing drought, all the cows except for these lucky two were sold. So now, they have free roaming access to 800 acres of lush paddock thanks to recent rains and are thus more rotund than ever. They look normal from the side, but then they turn around to face you and suddenly you think “That cow looks like it’s a mouth-breather. What a small head it has.”
Millenial cow. Always ready with his best side.
I never, ever thought I’d have a pet cow, let alone two. I never thought I’d even live anywhere near a cow. And now, I’ve managed to raise one, adopt a second, and not even mind that much when they burp in my face (it is actually quite disgusting and happens too often). I also never thought a cow would or could respond to its name - but Vinnie does! He knows who he is. The OG, this girl’s first cow, and Mini’s other half. “I have two pet cows” is a sentence I never thought I’d say, but it’s definitely one of my favourites now.
