How “Accidental” Breeding Created a Little Black Cull Heifer that Turned into One of the Best Milk Cows in the World…

The year was 2015, and I had never touched a cow before buying one. I had read every book I could find and devoured countless online articles about cattle, but I had absolutely zero real-life cattle experience. Still, I knew one thing for certain: I wanted a milk cow. That single desire was all the motivation I needed to bring home my first Dexter cow, Cassandra, in March of that year.

Cassandra—quickly nicknamed MooMa—was due to calve soon, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her living alone for three months. Cattle are herd animals, after all, and MooMa needed a companion. Our budget was tight, so I bought a wild little black cull heifer named Maggie She wasn’t registered because her dam had been bred by a “steer” that had retained one testicle when he had been banded. Maggie was also A1A1 milk, which at the time was a big deal for us so we had no intention of keeping her long-term. Her future, as far as we were concerned, involved freezer camp.

Maggie arrived already overwhelmed. Shortly before coming to our farm, she had been vaccinated, dehorned, weaned, and then hauled to a new home with complete strangers. By the time she stepped off the trailer, she was terrified. Kevin and I stood watching in horror as Maggie calmly stepped between two strands of hot wire as if they didn’t exist—and just like that, she was gone.

MooMa, older and steadier, began calling for her. Before long, Maggie came trotting back, stepping right between the wires again as though that was perfectly normal. We quickly added a third strand of wire and spent the next week wondering what on earth we had gotten ourselves into.

Maggie wouldn’t let us within fifty feet of her. Her fear seemed contagious, and soon MooMa didn’t trust us either. Time was ticking. I had just three months to turn MooMa into a milk cow. So every day—sometimes multiple times a day—I went out and simply sat in the pasture with them. Cattle are naturally curious. At first, they’d freeze and stare at me, clearly hoping that if they didn’t move, I wouldn’t notice them. But it didn’t take long for them to learn I wasn’t there to hurt them—and that I usually brought treats. Before long, my pasture visits became something all three of us looked forward to.

On June 10, 2015, MooMa gave birth to a little red bull calf we named Liberty. Five days later, I began milking her. The next nine months were a steep learning curve for both of us. I’d love to say she milked like a dream, but the truth is… quite the opposite. That story, however, is for another blog post.

When it came time to rebreed MooMa, my AI technician talked me into breeding Maggie as well. She had grown into a lovely little heifer and could, at the very least, provide us with beef. She was still mostly wild—nearly all my effort had gone into training MooMa—but Maggie didn’t need to be tame to reproduce, so we went ahead and bred her.

Throughout her pregnancy, Maggie came to the barn every single day. She stood quietly, watching me freequently dodge kicks and often times fight for every drop of milk from MooMa. What I didn’t realize at the time was that Maggie wasn’t just waiting for her “big sister” to finish—she was studying.

Fast forward several months. MooMa calved her second calf just days before Maggie had her first. Once again, I began milking MooMa, and once again, Maggie watched and waited.

Four days after Maggie calved, I walked into the barn expecting my usual routine and instead found Maggie standing squarely in the milk stanchion. She refused to leave. Waving my arms, yelling like a crazed person—nothing fazed her. Finally, exasperated, I looked at her and said, “Well, Maggie, I guess you’re going to be a milk cow today.” Fully expecting her to spook and bolt, I slammed my milk bucket loudly beneath her. She didn’t move. I washed her udder. Still nothing. When I finally grabbed a teat and squeezed, Maggie sucked in her gut and stood like a seasoned professional. No treats. No headgate. No kicks. No tantrums. This little black cull heifer wanted to be a milk cow.

Dexters are notorious for holding back their hind milk unless the calf is nursing. I’ve long accepted this and simply train calves to nurse on one side while I milk the other. But Maggie is different. She gives me everything she makes, trusting me to leave enough for the one thing she loves more than anything—her calf. When it’s time to wean, she handles it herself, yet she still comes to the barn every day, eager to be milked.

One year, while transitioning Maggie from a fall calving schedule to a spring schedule, I milked her for 380 days straight. In my book, that makes her a Super Cow. Maggie remained a cherished milk cow at MooShine Ridge for many years—a living reminder that sometimes the animals we least expect to keep are the ones who teach us the most.

About the Author:

Kimberly Jepsen is the heart behind MooShine Ridge in Vinita, Oklahoma, where she and her husband, Kevin, have been raising dual-purpose Dexter cows since 2015. Their little farm store is a labor of love, offering Dexter beef, raw milk, and artisan cheeses made from their own cows. Kimberly has a deep passion for the Dexter breed and loves nothing more than sharing what she’s learned over the years—whether it’s guiding fellow farmers, helping newcomers discover the joys of small-scale farming, or simply introducing people to the rich, creamy flavors of her handcrafted cheeses. For her, farming isn’t just a business—it’s a way to nurture animals, the land, and the community she cares about. https://mooshineridge.com/