C-Section on a cow and Sasquatch

This has nothing to do with eating disorders, but enjoy!

So about a few months ago, a friend of mine, 'Jim', called me one afternoon and asked if I would come help him with a  cow that had fallen down a cliff up in the mountains that afternoon and broke its legs. I said that I would help him and he showed up to my house that night at 11:32. There was a gentle snow falling and it was awfully cold. He had his four year old little boy with him and this little guy told me all the way up to the hills about the tv shows he had been watching about big foot. Needless to say, we were all creeped out by the time we arrived in the valley. We parked the truck on the side of the dirt road and grabbed our flashlights and headlamps and trudged through the forest to find the wounded cow. We found her, painfully lying  in the snow. Her big black eyes whispered sorrow to my soul. We assessed the situation for a few moments and then 'Jim' pulled out his AR-15 and put the laser sight right on the forehead of this old gal and pulled the trigger. She immediately slumped over and starting kicking her legs. 'Jim' jumped into action, pulling his knife from his scabbard and cut into her belly as she was thrashing around. I grabbed her legs to try to steady the convulsing body. He cut her up high, searching for the womb and the unborn calf which awaited inside. He cut into the stomach instead. 30 seconds had gone by, the cow was thrashing slowly now, 45 seconds... still no womb. Another 35 seconds of cutting and searching and finally he finds a large bag of amniotic fluid. He cuts quickly but carefully into the large, liquid filled bag and a leg of a small black calf comes shooting out. He grabbed a hold of the little hoof and pulled the calf out as quickly as he can. The calf is not moving. It just lays there. 'Jim' is worried, not having ever performed a C-section before. He grabs the back legs of the little calf and starting twirling it around in circles just like we would do to one of our chillens at play time, trying to empty the airways of any fluid. He stops. He watches the calf for a second to see if there is any movement. Nothing. The calf is still. He grabs the small head of the little calf and clamps the mouth shut with his hands while placing his entire mouth over the nostrils of the wee little cow and gives the calf a large gust of air. Cow CPR at its finest. Now remember, this calf just came out of its mothers body, it is slimy and wet. As 'Jim' blows in, the calf decides it is a good time to push the fluid out and start breathing, filling 'Jim's' mouth full of a slimy, slobbery goo that 'Jim' quickly spits out on to my pants as I am standing there watching. The cow takes a deep breath in and then stops. Nothing happens. 'Jim' again places his mouth over the nose of the calf and breaths in. This time the cow takes the breath and exhales it shortly thereafter. The cow is alive. It begins to move. 'Jim' rips off his coat and we pick up the calf and set it on the coat that we have spread out. We both pick of the jacket and run with the calf to the truck. We make it and gently slide the calf on the floor of the pickup and start the truck and get the heat going. 'Jim' rubs the little cow down and gets him dried off and warm. He makes little cow noises, moo moo here and a moo moo there. Having stabilized the calf we go back to the task of getting the dead momma cow to the truck. Cows are huge, twice the size of a elk. Harder to gut than anything I have ever worked on. We had a piece of plywood in the trailer and a fourwheeler. We get the cow on the plywood and fashion a tow strap to the wood, building a makeshift sled. Tie downs are used to secure the cow to the board and we spend the next hour pulling the cow through the snow, cutting down brush and small trees to make a trail and then load the cow into the horse trailer. Doors shut, cow and four wheeler are loaded. Little guy is still yacking about Sasqatch. I am getting ready to drink  a Coke. We head back to town, it is 5:13 am. 'Jim' drives on both sides of the highway, I keep yacking to keep him awake, ready to grab the steering wheel at a moments notice. Small little mooing calf is at my feet, celebrating his birth with a celebratory drive in the truck listening to classic George Straight. We arrive at my friend's heated shop hoist the cow into the air with his engine hoist. I grab my knife and proceed to clean the entrails out of the cow. Covered in blood and tired, I get my truck and drop the cow onto my trailer, getting home at 7:15, just in time to tell the kids good bye as they climb on the bus for the day. Shower is taken, breakfast is ate, and off to work for the day with dear old pa. Calf is still alive, I asked 'Jim' later on what the mucus tasted like as it fill his mouth. His reply was, "It tasted like a $1000."  That is what the little cow will fetch at auction in a year.