Cattle and Their Diseases: Embracing Their History and Breeds, Crossing and Breeding, and Feeding and Management

The Story

The progression of this work moves with the rhythmic certainty of a seasonal agricultural cycle, beginning with the foundational principles of breeding and concluding with the grim, practical necessity of pathological intervention. Initially, the narrative establishes a baseline for the American farmer, who finds himself surrounded by a variety of breeds—Ayrshires, Jerseys, Devons, and Herefords—each carrying distinct genetic legacies. The text argues that the path to a profitable farm requires a sophisticated understanding of these lineages. It guides the reader through the nuances of the Ayrshire, prized for her efficiency in converting feed to milk, and the Jersey, celebrated for the richness of her cream, while lamenting that the average American herd has stagnated, lacking the consistent pedigree and "power of transmitting" desirable traits that characterize European stock.

From the selection of the herd, the journey moves into the biological reality of the animal. The author defines the bovine according to the rigid classification of the Mammalia and Ruminantia, establishing a scientific framework for understanding the cow’s life. The account of gestation and the technical intricacies of tooth formation serve as the bridge between nature and nurture. The author stresses that the farmer’s responsibility begins long before birth, requiring a watchful eye on the cow’s digestive health, which, if compromised by poor diet or confinement, can lead to catastrophic failure during the process of calving. The text provides a vivid, almost suspenseful account of the signs of impending labor, urging the farmer to provide a quiet, sheltered space, yet counseling against unnecessary interference in what is usually a natural, if arduous, event.

As the focus shifts to feeding and management, the narrative becomes an argument for industrial-level precision. The author advocates for the steaming of feed—a labor-intensive process of combining bean-straw, rape cake, and bran to ensure the animal receives the maximum nutritional value. This section acts as a turning point, moving the farmer from a passive observer of nature to an active engineer of the animal’s productivity. The discussion of specialized crops like millet and corn fodder further reinforces the idea that the success of the dairy is not a matter of luck, but of careful, calculated input.

The final, darker act of the work addresses the reality of disease and death. The narrative pivots to the anatomy of the udder and the mechanical causes of inflammation, explaining how the failure to properly empty the milk-glands can lead to ruinous disease. It then moves into a clinical survey of maladies—from "fardel" or "clue-bound" stomach disorders to the dreaded, contagious specter of pleuro-pneumonia. The account of the 1859 outbreak in Massachusetts, bolstered by the testimony of E.P. Prentice, serves as a sobering climax to the work. Here, the narrative highlights the terror that gripped the farming community and the radical, legislative, and surgical measures required to stop the "monster" of contagion. The book concludes with an extensive pharmacopoeia, detailing the categorization of medicines—tonics, sedatives, and diuretics—that the serious practitioner must keep on hand, effectively placing the tools of life and death directly into the hands of the reader.

The People

• The American Farmer: The central protagonist, who is depicted as a well-meaning but often insufficiently informed laborer. He is hungry for the "correct principles of breeding" that will elevate his stock to European standards, and he stands between the potential for a profitable dairy and the constant threats of malnutrition or epizootic disease.
• The Ayrshire Cow: Held up as the gold standard of the dairy industry. She represents the ideal synthesis of form and function; her compact body and "capacious stomach" make her the hero of the text’s economic arguments, as she embodies the most efficient return on the farmer’s investment.
• The Veterinary Surgeon: A figure of authority and modern science who enters the scene when nature fails. He represents the shift from traditional, folk-remedy approaches to a disciplined, pathological understanding of animal anatomy, emphasizing that "good nursing" must be paired with precise, evidence-based pharmaceutical intervention.
• E.P. Prentice: A real-world correspondent whose inclusion serves as a cautionary tale. He represents the "awakened" farmer who, after suffering through the devastation of pleuro-pneumonia, realizes that sentimentality has no place in the barnyard and that strict, cold-hearted isolation is the only defense against total herd loss.
• The Gad-Fly (Oestrus bovis): While not human, this creature acts as an antagonist, a silent predator that compromises the health and spirits of the herd. It serves as a reminder that the farmer’s battle is not only against mismanagement but against the pervasive, invisible insect threats that sap the vitality of his animals.

In Its Own Voice

When detailing the specific efficiency of the preferred breed, the author emphasizes that economic success is the primary metric of the dairy farmer’s life.

"So remarkable is this fact, that all dairy farmers who have any experience on the point, agree in stating that an Ayrshire cow generally gives a larger return of milk for the food consumed than a cow of any other breed."

In the context of protecting the herd from the ravages of contagion, the author argues for a transition from desperate attempts at cure to the adoption of preventative measures.

"After I had paid the third or fourth forfeit, I began to awake up to the idea that the disease was, in a high degree, contagious, whether I would have it so or not; and that my future security was in prevention, and not in remedy."

Describing the subtle but vital necessity of consistent milking to avoid internal damage to the cow, the author warns of the dangers of neglect.

"Hence the great importance of emptying these smaller tubes regularly and thoroughly, not merely to prevent the occurrence of disease, but actually to increase the quantity of milk; for, so long as the smaller tubes are kept free, milk is constantly forming; but whenever, as has already been mentioned, they become gorged, the secretion of milk ceases until they are emptied."

What It's Really About

At its core, this work is an argument for the professionalization of agriculture. It treats the farm not as a homestead, but as a manufacturing facility where the primary units of production—cows—are subject to the same rigors of optimization as any industrial machine. The text is deeply concerned with the "intrinsic good qualities" of livestock, arguing that the chaotic, unscientific breeding practices of the past are a direct cause of national economic weakness. It posits that the true farmer is a student of biology, chemistry, and pathology, and that his failure to grasp these disciplines is not just a personal oversight, but a failure of stewardship over the nation’s resources.

The book also grapples with the tension between the organic, "natural" life of the animal and the artificial environments created by man. The author frequently identifies the cow’s "enormous stomach" and her delicate digestive system as a point of vulnerability. When the animal is taken from the pasture and placed in a stall, she is severed from her natural rhythms. Consequently, the farmer must compensate for this isolation through a synthetic, human-regulated diet—steaming straw, mixing supplements, and managing the timing of birth. This reflects a broader nineteenth-century anxiety: that as we draw animals further into our domestic and commercial spheres, we inevitably make them more fragile, necessitating a corresponding increase in the complexity and reach of veterinary medicine.

Finally, the text serves as a chronicle of the fight against the "invisible" enemies of the farm. The obsession with contagion and parasites reveals a world where the farmer is constantly at war with microscopic threats. The transition from the language of "bad luck" or "spontaneous illness" to the language of "contagion" and "isolation" marks a definitive shift in the human relationship with the animal kingdom. The book is an attempt to map this territory, providing a set of rules that, if followed, might render the unpredictable nature of livestock management somewhat more legible. It asks the reader to view the animal not as a companion, but as a complex, biological, and economic system that demands constant, vigilant maintenance.

Why Read It Today

Today, this book reads like a time capsule of rural American ambition. It is a dense, utilitarian volume that does not shy away from the gritty, unvarnished realities of nineteenth-century animal husbandry. Readers who appreciate historical documents that prioritize technical accuracy over narrative flourish will find much to admire here. The prose is clear and direct, reflecting a period when "instructional" literature was meant to be carried into the field, stained by the work it describes, and consulted in moments of genuine crisis.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author’s clinical, sometimes detached, approach to life and death. The treatment of the animal is fundamentally instrumental; there is little room for sentimentality, and the descriptions of surgeries and "physic" (purgatives) reflect a time when veterinary practices were often as brutal as they were necessary. The text’s period attitudes are evident in its rigid, hierarchical view of breeding and its occasional reliance on the anecdotal observations of "celebrated" gentlemen farmers. There is also a distinct, almost rhythmic, repetition in the advice—a byproduct of the author’s desire to hammer home essential safety protocols for the health of the herd.

What stays with you long after the final page is the sheer, grueling effort the nineteenth-century farmer invested in his livelihood. The instructions for steaming straw, the elaborate preparations for calving, and the terrified response to the arrival of pleuro-pneumonia capture a way of life defined by constant, labor-intensive vigilance. It is a sobering look at a time before the convenience of modern agricultural technology, where the distance between a thriving herd and total financial ruin was often bridged only by the farmer’s own knowledge and his willingness to use his hands. For anyone interested in the history of science, the development of the American agricultural landscape, or the evolution of veterinary medicine, this book offers a profound, grounded, and intensely practical window into the past.