Helping deliver calves is one of the most rewarding jobs on the dairy farm. The miracle of birth is always new and wondrous.

One such “blessed event” stands out in my mind more than the others. On one hot summer afternoon a few years ago, we were calling cows to come in for evening milking as usual. One cow didn’t come in with the rest of the herd. Now it is my job to go round up the stray cows, and since our Border Collie never figured out how, I am the family dog.

I found “Josie” (names have been changed to protect the innocent) a half-mile from the barn in an advanced stage of labor. It was her first calf and her big brown eyes pleaded for an epidural. At the risk of being too graphic, let me just say that I knew the calf was in trouble and that it needed to be pulled into the world and get oxygen soon.

I must explain that Josie didn’t even belong to us. We were boarding her for some friends. Josie was their 10 year old’s 4-H project. So I was understandably overwhelmed with the responsibility of saving both mother and child. I just couldn’t deal with causing someone else’s 10-year old son to cry. My options were few.

Now I’ve pulled lots of calves before, but usually with latex gloves. Well this particular pasture was plum out of latex gloves. Deep breath. I grasped a slimy wet calf hoof in each hand and pulled hard. This landed me flat on my bottom, right where Josie’s water had broken earlier in the day. This is where the embellishment started.

No paper towels in this pasture. (Will somebody please start a grocery list?) No baler twine lying around either. (Farmers are famous for fixing things with baler twine.) I wiped my hands on my shorts (more embellishment) and picked handfuls of weeds and wiped off the calves ankles, tightened my grip and pulled again. Still not enough traction, but at least I stayed on my feet this time.

It’s summer, no socks to slide over my hands to use as gloves. Just a T-shirt and shorts. No time to run back to the barn. In my panic, I voted for the shorts.

Timing my pulls with Josie’s heaves, my brain scrambled to remember what I leaned in Lamaze Class 13 years earlier. Eventually we triumphantly welcomed a 100-pound healthy heifer calf into the world! I tickled its nose with a stick to make it start breathing while Josie licked it clean. Our maternal afterglow was soon interrupted by the stark realization that I had no pants on!

I was just yards from the road, but a half mile from the barn. No high weeds or trees to hide behind. No PLAN D. And the Mennonite Wednesday evening pilgrimage to mid-week prayer meeting would soon be parading past. I could stand behind Josie to hide, but that would only be a temporary fix. Yet, I was not putting those shorts back on. I do have some pride. So I just ran as fast as I could, scanning up and down the road, yanking my T-shirt down as far as it would go, which was not nearly far enough.

I figured I’d earned a Hero’s Homecoming back in the barn for my sacrificial act. But instead, Hubby and Son thought my lack of attire was just the funniest thing they had ever seen. Amid their uncontrolled laughter, I wrapped a feedbag around myself and headed to the house to change clothes to finish chores.

I do not recommend the Bovine Excretion Method of embellishment. Just go buy Rit Dye.