Mostly to weed out the undergrads who should consider less squicky fields of work.
The cows are probably happier too. 
They’re separated almost immediately, and are either penned (four calves per pen) or put into calf hutches until they’re weaned. After that, they’re put in a pasture. They sort of work things out by themselves, manners-wise. We don’t put older cows in with calves–they’re generally segregated by age, and the steers are sold when they’re about a year old. Segregating them by age makes it easier to keep track of them and their health.
I don’t know much about beef cattle, other than every so often our neighbors’ jump in with our heifers and then the neighbors come over and shoot them with a tranquilizer gun (as a last resort.) Which is kind of cool, in a Wild Kingdom sort of way.
When calves are kidnapped, it’s generally because the abductor has lost her calf or because she just decides that she wants a calf. I can’t explain the, um, psychology behind it, because we usually don’t notice until after the fact. Some cows are just more maternal than others.
I’m just going to quote Wiki on the milk production cycle, because my writing well is running dry. But, yes, they’re generally bred every year, producing a single calf or twins.
You mean your writing teat is being overmilked, right?
Man, this thread really makes me want a cookie.
Actually, it was a punchline.
I have always wanted to know how do you manage the bulls? How do you get them from the pasture to the barn? Seems if a bull doesn’t want to do something it must be hard to persuade it. Any family stories of bulls gone wild?
thanks
Fellow Cheesehead/Dairy girl here.
Just wondering where in the state your farm is? Maybe we know each other!
Barrels
How is your dairy air?
I can’t beleive you guys missed that one. It’s the oldest pun in moo-dom.
Slackers.
A buddy of mine who lived on a farm had me out for a sleep-over when I was a kid. Overnight, the sunburn I had went into full-blown peeling mode, and I was in agony… it seemed like the itching would never stop. After slapping everything they had in the medicine cabinet on me (to no avail) they got out the Bag Balm and tried that.
I don’t remember if it helped or not, but I DO remember being amazed it was good for cows AND humans. 
We have dogs . . . well, we have a dog. She’s not much of a cowdog, anymore. She’s got kicked in the head while herding a nasty old cow onto the trailer. The dog went forward to grip the heel, and the cow kicked back at the same time. She prefers to grip at the head, so she doesn’t haven’t gripping at the heel quite down. Princess (being the dog) had a concussion and now she sometimes has seizures, and doesn’t much like working with cattle. She’s mostly spoiled and fat right now.
Anyway, when you’re working with a bull, you generally have two dogs–one working at the head and one at the heel. (We borrow friends’ dogs if required.) The dogs will separate the bull from the herd and herd him into the cowyard. Then the dog working the heel drives the bull forward, while the one at the head keeps an eye on things and is ready to jump in and tell the bull who’s boss. A good herding dog is a wonder to behold. Assertive, confident, knows what they’re doing–it gives me shivers. A bull will obey a good herding dog.
The young and stupid ones will sometimes come inside the barn if you tempt them in with something delicious, but then you have a confused animal in a confined space which has the potential to go badly if you keep him there too long. Generally, if the bull needs the vet to look at him, we herd the bull into the cowyard, wait for the vet to get there, and then move him into the bullpen in the barn. (No, no baseball bats there. It’s just a large pen in the barn, big enough for a bull to mount a cow. Kind of like a loose stall, only with steel bars.) Alternatively, if the bull is really uncooperative, we tell the vet to bring his cattle chute. The last resort is the tranquilizer gun, which I have to say again, is really quite cool to see in action.
As for stories of bulls gone wild, once my parents and Bucky (the Aussie we had before Princess–highly intelligent, wonderful cowdog) were out fencing in the dry cow pasture. There was a bull in with the dry cows and heifers that had never been bred before, and this was a mean bull. He was going to be leaving soon, but the fence had to be fixed. The herd was on the other side of the pasture so they didn’t think they had anything to worry about. I bet you can see where this is going.
The bull came out of nowhere, bellering and snorting and doing the “I’m a bull–I will kill you” routine. My dad had worked their way away from the fence and he was too far away from it to easily dive through and away to relative safety. Mom was next to the fence, and the dog was between them. When she saw the bull menacing Dad, she leapt into action.
She grabbed the first weapon that came to hand, an enormous tree branch, at least four feet long. She screamed, “Mark, get under that fence!” and charged the bull. This proved enough distraction for Dad to make it to the fence. Then she raised the branch and walloped the bull on the snout so hard he staggered and went to his knees. Then she ran away very quickly. She threw the dog, who had more balls than common sense when it came to bulls, over the fence and told him to go home. Then she told Dad he was an idiot and started crying.
My mother is the bravest woman I know. And she must have an amazing endocrine system, because I don’t even know how much adrenaline it would take to charge a bull.
In another occasion with a different bull, Bucky saved my dad’s life. The bull had gotten Dad pinned to the ground in the cowyard and was deliberating what to do with him next. Bucky got the bull away from Dad by latching onto the bull’s nose and tearing. The bull turned on the dog and Dad was able to get away to the barn, but had to get the truck to chase the bull away from the dog, because Bucky would not back down until he thought Dad was safe. That was unusual for him, because he was usually pretty obedient, but sometimes his protectiveness outweighed his obedience.
Bucky was such a good dog and I miss him terribly. He died of brain cancer when I was sixteen. I’m crying now. Just the best dog ever.
Ah, sisters in cheddar, eh? The farm is in the southwest part of the state, not far from where Land’s End used to have their corporate headquarters, if that’s not too obscure. You do rodeo too, right? It would be too weird if you turned out to be one of my neighbors.
Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.
Will you ship my parents some bovine colostrum? I’ve had to hear about this one legendary Indian dessert made out of bovine colostrum since about 1982 (the last time they found it in North America)…
I’m going to have to say no, because we save ours from our cows, and so it’s not pasteurized and so not fit for human consumption. Well, that and I don’t think it would ship well. You can order it online though, usually in powder form. And in pill form as a dietary supplement for humans, I’ve discovered through Googling. What the hell?
Ugh. The thought of eating colostrum is kind of making me go bleurgh. It would be like eating melted butter with lots of lactose and a side of antibiotics.
I know exactly where you are talking about You’re right I do rodeo, and I am pretty sure I know which rodeo neighbors you are talking about. The Kites all live that ways, are they near you? I know your area very well, used to date a guy from those parts. Our family farm is between Verona and Troll Town. While I was not a Dairy girl by birth, I can sure fake it well!
Barrels
P.S. I also have Aussies.
Yeah, the Kite boys! The youngest was a grade behind me and his mom does my grandma’s hair. That’s just too weird. Now I’m kind of curious about who you were dating, because chances are that I know him. Or I’m related to him.
And Aussies are the best little dogs on earth.
He lived down in Lancaster, and you couldn’t pay me enough money to tell you who he was because then I would have to admit to dating him!
Barrels
It’s all good, then, because I don’t know anybody from Lancaster! I think everybody has an ex-boyfriend like that.
Actually I was just kidding. I found it in California at my local Whole Paycheck and I was so excited I violated one of my personal cell phone etiquette rules by pulling my cell out and calling my parents from in front of the dairy aisle. THEY got so excited I almost thought they were going to buy a plane ticket out to see me.
Powdered form would be no good because you actually make the dessert by baking it-it’s called pohtz. Apparently in Europe it’s known as beestings pudding.
I actually blogged all about the wonderful world of eating bovine colostrum. From one dairy wench to another (I’m a recreational fromagiere) I reveal to you the world of bovine colostrum.