So here we go again and welcome 2026! As January creeps along there are lots of things to look forward to: the first snowdrops, the days getting longer and, best of all, the prospect of a fresh egg!
Our posh hens are a ridiculous indulgence. We could easily have some hardworking regular brown hens, happy to participate in a straightforward contract. We provide the food and they provide a daily egg. But no, our extremely rare (now there’s a surprise) Brown Sussex hens are very particular and will only deliver an egg when it absolutely suits them.
In August they moult, which means they can’t possibly lay and by the time they have their glossy new feathers it’s too cold and wet to even consider it. But as the evenings begin to draw out and the days get longer we will eventually be surprised and thrilled as an egg song rings out around Coopers Farm. I wouldn’t actually call it a song, more of an out of tune repetitive screech that a hen makes when she lays an egg. I’ve often wondered why nature would encourage them to so obviously publicise what for many – rooks, crows, magpies and our Labrador for starters – is the arrival of a tasty morsel. But, having left the flock to go and lay in a dark corner, they do it to tell the cockerel to come and find them and take them back to join the others.

The other sign of new life to look forward to will be the calves which will start arriving at the end of the month. But before then I will go shopping to make sure we have all the kit ready and waiting.
This includes topping up the medicine chest with lubricant, pain relief, and an essential tube of a magic “red paste” which is filled with adrenaline.

Our extremely rare (now there’s a surprise) Brown Sussex hens are very particular and will only deliver an egg when it absolutely suits them

This special paste, when applied to the tongue of a new born calf looking dopey and contemplating opting out (almost always bull calves), will have miraculous results. But, most important of all, to guarantee a good outcome is a supply of high quality colostrum – the very thick, yellow milk, stuffed with antibodies that the cow produces for the first few hours after calving, often referred to as Liquid Gold.

We will buy some colostrum powder but it’s never a patch on the real thing.
The calf is born without its own immunity and so relies on mum’s colostrum for its survival. But timing is key as the calf’s gut can only absorb the big antibody molecules it contains for the first 6 to 24 hours, with peak absorption in the first 2-4 hours.
So in a textbook situation, a few minutes after she’s given birth the cow will stand up and vigorously lick her calf dry – it’s where the saying lick into shape comes from – and then start nudging it to get up and find her udder. An older experienced cow will know exactly what needs to be done, but sometimes the heifers (first time mums) are far from impressed by the effort of giving birth, are pleased it’s over, consider it job done and wander off.
What then follows is an hour – and the clock is of course ticking – of catching the heifer and trying to get her to stand still while encouraging a slippery, wet, heavy and confused calf to stand up, find the udder and start sucking. Eventually it happens and nothing, absolutely nothing (not even an egg song) sounds better that an enthusiastic slurp slurp slurp with the heifer gently mooing encouragement to her new arrival. Happy days.