Family Bullishly Brings Up Bovine Baby

Fifteen-year-old Burkly Barratt never imagined himself in the role of surrogate dad.

But three weeks ago, he found an orphaned baby in a field behind his Moran Prairie home.

Ever since, he’s been bottlefeeding the little black-haired guy.

Actually, this orphan weighs 80 pounds and can knock Barratt down. But that’s small for a Black Angus bull who will one day boast one-ton girth.

Meet Rio Bravo, outcast bovine.

His story began on April Fools’ Day, when the Barratt family (Scott, Jeneen and three teenagers) discovered the newborn calf lying in a bush atop a grassy knoll.

His mother bled to death after the birth, but she exhibited the selflessness that belies her champion lineage. Her final act was to clean her baby from head to hoof.

The Barratts tried to get other cows in their small herd to adopt the orphan. They even tried fooling them by taking some of their milk and splashing it on Rio.

But the giant mamas would have none of it.

That’s when Burkly Barratt stepped in, armed with a quart-sized baby bottle and three-inch, industrial-strength nipple.

These days, he takes care of afternoon and evening feedings. His mother handles the rest.

Rio scrambles happily around the barn, kicking up straw and playing tag with the family dog and cat. It’s like a scene from a Disney movie.

The bull chews on anything, comes when his name is called and follows his foster parents around like a faithful companion. Once, he nearly followed them into the house.

His favorite game is running up to people and head-butting them, which is cute but sometimes painful.

“He thinks he’s a dog - he doesn’t know he’s a bull. He chases me all over the barn,” says Jeneen Barratt. “I just get beat up.”

Burkly Barratt is amazed by the creature’s insatiable appetite, sucking down a quart of NurseGro formula in less than two minutes, then mooing for more.

Caring for Rio isn’t easy. He hasn’t learned to slurp water from a trough, and he must be hand-fed grain pellets. With no mother around for tongue baths, all the washing, scrubbing and brushing is left to his human benefactors.

“It’s just like taking care of a baby,” Jeneen Barratt says.

Only there are no diapers to change and no burping.

“He burps me,” she says, wincing at another surprise head-butt.

Bruises aside, all this barnyard bonding may pay dividends later. Rio seems destined for stardom as a show animal.

“He has absolutely no fear of people. You’ll be able to lead him around with no problems at all,” says Scott Barratt, a Spokane businessman who grew up on a sprawling ranch in eastern Oregon.

The Barratts won’t allow Rio to roam their fields with his real relatives until he can eat on his own and is big enough to defend himself. That probably means another month or so of bottle feedings.

Meanwhile, news of the orphan bull has spread through the rural neighborhood south of Spokane, drawing plenty of visitors.

But Burkly Barratt, a freshman at Ferris High School, isn’t telling his “city” friends.

“They wouldn’t know what a calf is,” he says.