There’s a scene in one of the Jurassic Park films where the characters sit panting in utter relief, having handed a baby dinosaur back to its’ ferocious parents without being eaten.

The camera abruptly locks to the leading actor’s face. He has just realised something…

“Wait a minute, this is gonna be bad…”

Cue a ferocious roar, lots of sharp teeth and 10 minutes of carnage.

On Thursday last, I awoke with a long thesis to-do list. I rose and got dressed for the office - the cattle could be checked later.

“Wait a minute, this is gonna be bad…”

My curtains had been hiding a vigorous blizzard…

Twenty minutes later and I’ve got my second calf noted to see the vet. The first had a heavy scour, this one had the beginnings of pneumonia. He seemed bright, but was forcing his breaths and hadn’t stretched when risen.

Sure enough, his temperature was 39.8 degrees Celsius. At or above 39.5 degrees Cesius is the threshold for taking action. While I was waiting for the vet I walked to another, older group of calves and their mothers.

Another cinematic reference: There Will Be Blood

This group yielded a bad case of coccidiosis and, amazingly, a calf who’d managed to burst a 10-day old de-horning wound. There was a scarlet fountain flowing from his head. Though he seemed oblivious to it all, the clock was ticking.

With freeze-numbed fingers reached for my phone and clumsily negotiated the lock screen.

“Yeah, there’s two more for you down here. Blood coming from both ends…”

Apart from having a bloody rump, the coccidiosis calf was lethargic. He needed more than a Vecoxan drench.

All are now on the mend and as I write, the weather in Co Meath is milder and more-settled.

Nevertheless, we’re sending out mayday calls for cold calves against blizzard backdrops.

Resilience needed, but we’re good at that.