After all the fretting, false alarms, anxiety, fussing, and fawning, it seemed the moment had finally arrived. Though a bit skeptical (I cannot even recount the number of times I was told “it’s definite, today’s the day”), I E.T.ed my internet sesh and went running over to my grandparent’s house to witness the big event—only to be greeted by Grandpa Segundo’s stern gaze and admonishing tone.
“Hide,” he nervously barked, “la vaca doesn´t know you. She´s embarassed.”
Sheepishly I retreated to conceal myself in the bushes around the corner from her nook. Two hours passed, darkness set in, nothing. Taking pity on my obvious discomfort, my host mom finally called me out of hiding to watch our daily telenovela, promising we could check in on Chili during each commercial break. The novela came and went…still nothing. Chili appeared tranquila as can be. Beginning to believe that this was yet another false alarm and perhaps the darn creature wasn’t actually pregnant (despite the fact that her udder had now swollen to the size of a beach ball), I began to extend the intervals passed between vaca checks.
Around 10:30 pm (a half hour since my last check in) Grandma Maria knocked on the door.
“Ya,” she said.
Dashing across the street I expected to encounter cow moans, lots of gore, and excitement. Instead I found a serene mama cow tenderly licking clean her mucus-y newborn.
“Rats!” I thought. “That tricky little bugger had to go and give birth while I wasn’t there. How many more opportunities will I have to witness such an event?!”
Perceiving my disappointment, Grandma Maria did her best to console me.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “in about an hour the placenta will come out. It’s just like watching the real birth.” So, again I went off to hide, again I waited, and again, nothing. Certain Chili was intentionally trying to spite me, I left around 2 am, deciding my warm bed and a good night’s rest were not worth sacrificing for a placenta.
I awoke the next morning ready to befriend the no-longer slimy member of the family. Crossing the street to saludar the new ternera (hembra—yes! More milk will be making its way to the Sanchez family) I was beckoned by Grandma’s excited calls.
“Senorita, Senorita, come here. I want to show you something.” She proudly opened up a shopping bag in her hand to reveal the large, not-so-comely placental sack that she had saved so I wouldn’t feel like I had missed out—how amable of her.
The Sanchez family now has a mischievous calf with a perfect number seven on her forehead (they actually named her “seven” in honor of their friendly English-speaking guest from the States), more dairy products than it is able to consume, and one gringa with yet another Peace Corps anecdote to share.
“Hide,” he nervously barked, “la vaca doesn´t know you. She´s embarassed.”
Sheepishly I retreated to conceal myself in the bushes around the corner from her nook. Two hours passed, darkness set in, nothing. Taking pity on my obvious discomfort, my host mom finally called me out of hiding to watch our daily telenovela, promising we could check in on Chili during each commercial break. The novela came and went…still nothing. Chili appeared tranquila as can be. Beginning to believe that this was yet another false alarm and perhaps the darn creature wasn’t actually pregnant (despite the fact that her udder had now swollen to the size of a beach ball), I began to extend the intervals passed between vaca checks.
Around 10:30 pm (a half hour since my last check in) Grandma Maria knocked on the door.
“Ya,” she said.
Dashing across the street I expected to encounter cow moans, lots of gore, and excitement. Instead I found a serene mama cow tenderly licking clean her mucus-y newborn.
“Rats!” I thought. “That tricky little bugger had to go and give birth while I wasn’t there. How many more opportunities will I have to witness such an event?!”
Perceiving my disappointment, Grandma Maria did her best to console me.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “in about an hour the placenta will come out. It’s just like watching the real birth.” So, again I went off to hide, again I waited, and again, nothing. Certain Chili was intentionally trying to spite me, I left around 2 am, deciding my warm bed and a good night’s rest were not worth sacrificing for a placenta.
I awoke the next morning ready to befriend the no-longer slimy member of the family. Crossing the street to saludar the new ternera (hembra—yes! More milk will be making its way to the Sanchez family) I was beckoned by Grandma’s excited calls.
“Senorita, Senorita, come here. I want to show you something.” She proudly opened up a shopping bag in her hand to reveal the large, not-so-comely placental sack that she had saved so I wouldn’t feel like I had missed out—how amable of her.
The Sanchez family now has a mischievous calf with a perfect number seven on her forehead (they actually named her “seven” in honor of their friendly English-speaking guest from the States), more dairy products than it is able to consume, and one gringa with yet another Peace Corps anecdote to share.
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