Adventures in Awful: Failure

Post written by Pete Strub.

For today’s edition of Adventures in Awful, I’m going with a little bit of creative writing. What follows is a story that I wrote for my students at school about something that happened on our family farm when I was about fifteen. It’s not a fun story, but it’s a true story. I guess if I have a point today, it would be that sometimes we get the idea that if we are doing our best or, as Christians, if we have enough faith, then life will go the right way. Truth is, sometimes it just doesn’t work that way. Sometimes our best efforts end in a big pile of failure and it can be confusing, sad, difficult, discouraging. In a weird way, I hope this story is encouraging to you; I hope it lets you know that failure happens and it’s our job to work through it and recover from it. Happy reading!

The Little Calf
    “Don’t do this to me,” I pleaded with the little calf. “You’ve gotta eat.” I pulled the bottle back out of her mouth and as I let go of her head, it fell immediately to the ground. Her body looked frail and skeletal; her rib cage seemed to be protruding from her skin and her eyes were sunken. It was as if death was pulling her inward and she seemed to be giving in. Only the occasional whisp of visible breath in the cold air gave away the fact that she was still alive.
    I stood up and felt worry pinch in my gut. We had just had a calf die the day before and if this little calf didn’t eat, she would die, too. I didn’t want to be responsible for another death, another life snuffed out. I have to find Dad, I thought. He’ll fix it.
I blew into my hands for warmth and grabbed the cold wire fence and hurled myself over, out of the little calf’s hutch. I ran down the gravel path to the barn and burst into the milking parlor. John was in the pit hooking up the milking machines to the row of udders in front of him.
    “Have you seen my dad around?”
    John pulled down the last machine and let it suction its way onto the last cow in the row. “Jeez, I ain’t seen your dad since this morning. Check with your grandma, I think he might have run out to get parts for the tractor.” John turned around to face the next row of cows and began spraying iodine and wiping down the udders. I thought about asking him for help, but just as I was about to ask, one of the cows stepped on the hose to her milking machine and John punched her leg and started swearing at her. I remembered why John didn’t help with the calves, so I turned and ran out of the barn to go see my grandmother.
    My grandma’s house sat on the other side of the farm, so I took off running past our silos and through the other barn. As I jumped up the steps to her door, I started to realize that my dad might not be around. His truck wasn’t by the barn and it wasn’t in front of the house either. My mind began to process – if he wasn’t there…
    “Grandma!?” I opened the front door, a little breathless from the run.
    “Whatsthematter?” she asked. When grandma asked what the matter was, it wasn’t in a kindly grandmotherly way; she was always in a rush with eyebrows furrowed and followed the whatsthematter with a big sigh.
    “Have you seen my dad?”
    “No, he went to Palmyra to get parts.” I felt my heart sink when I realized he really wasn’t there. “What do you need him for?”
    “One of the calves is sick; she won’t eat.”
    “Well, why don’t you just tube feed it,” she asked. “You know how, right?”
    “Uh… yeah,” I lied.
    “Alright then, problem solved.” She shooed me out the door and closed it behind me.
    I walked slowly back to the barn and took down the tube feeding bottle from the shelf in the supply room. According to the directions, as soon as the tube is inserted past the calf’s tongue it would begin swallowing, then the tube would just need to be pushed down into the esophagus. It sounded easy enough, but I still didn’t feel sure. What if the calf was too weak to swallow? Despite my anxiety, I knew I didn’t have any other option, so I grabbed the medicine mix, poured the powder into the bottle and filled it full with warm water.
    Walking back to the calf’s hutch, I paused to take one last look around for my dad’s truck, but it was nowhere to be found. I climbed over the wire fence, ducked under the roof of the hutch, and kneeled in the straw next to the calf. At first, I thought I might have been too late, but then I saw her rib cage move and heard a small wheeze come from her mouth. She was laying on her side with her legs sticking straight out. I needed to have her sitting up to use the tube, so I folded her legs underneath her and pulled her body up. As I moved her, her head just flopped on the ground – she was not in good shape. I took a deep breath and lifted her head up.
    “Let’s hope this works.” I pressed the sides of her mouth and her jaw opened a little so that I could start to slide the tube in. It was difficult to hold her head and maneuver the tube into her mouth, but I got the tube to the back of her mouth. She was supposed to swallow, but she wasn’t. I tried rubbing her throat, but she still wouldn’t swallow, so I began to push the tube a little farther down her throat. The directions said that if the tube went easily, it was in the esophagus, and the tube was going easily, so I figured I was doing it correctly. The calf gagged a little, but I kept pushing gently and soon the tube was all the way in.
    “Please God,” I prayed while I tipped the bottle upside down and watched the liquid flow out. The bottle was emptying and I started to feel relieved, but I noticed the calf was beginning to squirm. I wondered if that was normal and remembered calves that I had seen my dad tube feed – none of them had squirmed. The bottle was almost empty and the calf began to squirm more. Something was wrong. I pulled the tube out of her mouth and the last of the liquid spilled on the straw. The calf was still squirming and her eyes bulged and her neck strained like she was trying to cough. Something was very wrong and realization swept over me – I had missed the esophagus.
    I had emptied the entire bottle into her lungs and she was suffocating. Ideas rushed through my head – should I try CPR? The Heimlich maneuver? But it was too late. All I could do was watch her squirm and watch her little body heave back and forth. I was still holding her head when the last little breath squeezed out and her eyes closed. I felt numb inside looking at her lifeless body. I had to turn away and I looked toward the house just as I saw my dad’s truck pulling in.

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