Eagles Scavenge: Affordable Calf Carts

Particularly this time of year, it's a bad week if I don't see three or four bald eagles.  Once you know what to look for, (a "golf ball" in a tree) they seem to be ubiquitous.  In the right spots.  Water helps. A tall tree away from other trees or along the edge of a woods helps. But find a roadkill in a spot like that and your odds go way up. We think of eagles as majestic killing machines -and they are- but more often, they let a Toyota Corolla do the hunting and simply scavenge. It's a more reliable source of food. 

So it goes with calf carts. When you need one, you need one. By the time you build one, you no longer need one. The solution is simple: build a cart well in advance of the need. While you're at it, tell the eagle: "You're a hunter. Spend your time hunting. you might succeed. Eschew that fresh meat on the roadside."

Yeah, right.

A good calf cart is one you've got access to. With some scavenged parts. Those small, metal garden carts are quite common in the aftermarket for just a small price. Or borrow one, like I did (I think I hauled one away, lent it to my dad, then borrowed it back).  Then make a tongue. 

Or scavenge one. In this case, the tongue had been up in the rafters of the corn crib for years before I bought my farm, then years since. Lying face down, the bottom had rotted badly, but 2 inches of good material remained on top.  A couple of minutes with the bandsaw and a jack plane narrowed it to fit in the existing U-shaped tongue of the cart.  A 1/2" bolt through the hitch and the wood makes a sturdy rear hitch point and one more 1/2" bolt will keep things secure.

Will keep things secure. For the maiden voyages, a wood-clamp holds things tight while we prototype the fit. So far, so good.

Next time: How to keep the cart in the same county when introducing it to a team.

St. Peter's and the Crowbar: A Trailer Tale

 Part 1: The "Old Trailer

Justice Collins in front of St.
Peter's.  About a half mile away

St. Peters Cathedral in Rome boggles the senses. It appears to be on a scale comparable to "regular buildings," until you get close. It's proportional in such a way that, inside and out, you don't get a feel for its immensity.

Oxen aren't like that. For an appreciation of that fact, get one inside something. Barn, stocks, or trailer.  See what happens? They grow.  

So it is with Brutus. He's big for an ox, but not huge for an ox. Same with Cassius. For a couple of years, they have been pushing the limits of my first trailer. It's a 1999 model draft horse-size horse trailer.  A little too short for the bodies of the big boys (although Zeus fits quite well), a little too narrow. But we got by.  Brutus and Cassius were too wide to ride together, but Zeus and Cassius would. So we got by. Zeus and Cassius were too wide to let me safely pass between them, so I used the escape door. We got by.  The floorboards were still solid, but with 3/4 inch plywood on them the load would be distributed. And we got by. Until we didn't.

Brutus outside: Sorta big

In August I taught Oxen Basics at Tillers, taking the three boys along. Two trips, one afternoon. Zeus and Cassius went first. No issues (ignoring the necessity to use the escape door to get in and out).  

Brutus was reluctant to load up for trip number two.  That's not unusual, but a few minutes of coaxing and up he went.  I tied him short in the manger and was shutting the back door when he stepped back out onto the ground with his back feet.  Remember, the trailer is just a wee too short. Stepping back up, head still tied, he slipped and went down. Not a second later, he was up and in place with a lurch.  I shut the door and got him some hay for the manger.  

Opening the front manger door, I slid in the hay. He took a nibble, but only just. Then I noticed that his head wasn't moving. At all. 

Brutus inside: very big.

When he lurched back into the manger, his horns had gotten ahead of the frame and one side was stuck against the steel divider, the other horn was wedged against the roof.  

I pushed and prodded from through the front opening to no avail.  

I got in next to him and asked him to sidestep. He did. Both ways. No effect.  At that point, I was in a real state, as was he. I could just see him shelling the horn and what that would look like. 

Call someone to help? Not a chance. Once he saw a stranger, he'd be more likely to panic and make things worse.  

Back in the trailer. More sidestepping. Same results. The only difference was that I could see that being in there with him would be dangerous if he did get free. St. Peter's the trailer is not, in terms of size.

Finally, after about a half an hour of this, I got a crowbar and pried from the outside of the trailer against the roof and the horn. Out he came.  

I released him and we walked around the yard for about another half hour.  Then we loaded and made the trip. After four days of class, he loaded, but not well.  It was time for a new trailer.  

A foot wide, a few feet longer.  All aluminum.  

None of the big boys have been inside the new trailer yet. That will have to be a tale for another day.