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toikd.com
I Signed the Papers to Send Her to Slaughter. Three Weeks Later, the Same Cow Saved Me from the Operating Table. A few months ago, I signed the papers that were meant to send the cow I had raised from a newborn calf to the slaughterhouse. Three weeks later, that same cow was back on her own four feet. Six weeks after that, she was the reason I walked away from the operating table. My name is Michael O’Connor. I am 58 years old, and I work as a dairy herd manager on a farm just outside Fermoy, in County Cork. For 25 years, I have been responsible for the daily care of the herd: feeding, calving, health checks, treatment records and dealing with the vet. I am the one who knows every animal in that herd. I get up at 4.20 every morning. Before five, I am already in the milking parlour. On a good day, I am home by half past seven in the evening. On a bad day, it is later. I take home just over €2,300 a month, and that is what my wife, Mary, and I live on. Mary worked as a healthcare assistant in a nursing home outside Mallow for almost 30 years. She is retired now, but her hands, hips and back still carry the damage from all those years lifting and supporting people who could no longer lift themselves. We live in a small bungalow on the edge of Fermoy. It has a kitchen, a sitting room, two bedrooms and a roof that should have been replaced years ago. Both our children moved away a long time ago. Our son has lived in Galway for eleven years, and our daughter married and moved to Dublin. They come home at Christmas and sometimes for a few days in the summer. The rest of the year, it is just Mary, me and our two cats. And until last year, there was Rosie. On 21 November last year, I helped make the decision that Rosie would be sent to slaughter. She was the best cow I had ever looked after. Rosie was a fully grown, seven-year-old red-and-white Holstein-Friesian. She had a deep red back and a white blaze in the middle of her forehead. I had known her since the night
