Digital Wanderer

Since there is nothing to write about, I'll tell you a tragically terrifying story about the Cow. (Why with a capital letter? Because she's a mother heroine).
My college buddy Yura's parents live on a farmstead in Latgale. This is the southeastern part of Latvia, where my usual habitat is also located—the city of Daugavpils, which means "Castle on the Daugava". At various times the city was called a bunch of names: Dvinsk, Dinaburg and even Borisoglebsk for a couple of years. The Russian emperor did his best. But this is not about Daugavpils, it's about the Cow.
This very Cow took it into her head to give birth. Usually this process happens automatically, that is, it requires no operator intervention. It is enough to visit the barn regularly to one fine moment discover two life entities in there instead of one. But this time nature glitched, and the calf brazenly got stuck in the Cow. Considering the significant mass of the Cow herself and her descendant the calf, getting him out of the Cow is no easy task. It is necessary to grab onto the sticking-out parts of the calf and play Grandpa and the Turnip. However, even working together, two pretty strong village men couldn't manage to pull the calf out, although a whole two parts of the calf were visible from the Cow - the head and the legs. To clarify the situation, a call was made to a local mid-caliber Aesculapius. Having heard the complaints about the birth process in the Cow, the doc virtually shrugged and said: "Add more people." Thus, according to the classic sequence of events from the fairy tale about Grandpa and the Turnip, they had to call for backup. However, weighing all the facts, our heroes realized that the efforts a doggie, a kitty and a mouse could muster are clearly insufficient to complete the process of extracting the calf from the Cow. Therefore, a more capable brigade was summoned - neighboring farmers of various dimensions, totaling 4 people. In total six burly men in the prime of life dragged the poor Cow around the barn for several hours. At the end of the process the aforementioned animal could no longer speak, and just lay flat on the floor. (This is  almost the most tragic moment of the story, you can shed a tear here). And they would have kept dragging her back and forth around the barn, if a fresh thought hadn't struck one of the participants in the process. This thought was strictly logical, and was formulated as follows: "The sticking-out head and legs are not obliged to belong to a single calf, since Cows are perfectly capable of giving birth to two."
In view of the critical state of the situation, the participants immediately telephoned a vet of a higher rank than the first one, with a request to urgently arrive at the scene of events.  The doctor who appeared a little while later, vindicating the honor of his profession, entered a hard-fought battle for the lives of all three patients. Over the course of two hours, literally diving into the cow's insides, this unknown hero untangled a knot of calves. (Here you can shed a tear once again from the pathos, the intensity of passions, and the criticality of the situation).
The outcome of this difficult undertaking was successful, but the joy of victory was deeply overshadowed by the death of one of the participants -  the calf.
What then can we say as a lesson for posterity? Ingenuity, information and preparation are the key to victory, and in exactly that order.  And any battle has a price, be it purely material damage, or the loss of something dear to us.  But there's always somethin' to fite for (sorry, couldn't resist, I just like this kind of ending too much). All the torments turned out to be not in vain - after all, the Cow not only survived herself, but, considering the outstanding characteristics of  the given Cow, achieved the goal of continuing her lineage.
Hereby we solemnly declare the story finished, and the Cow - a mother heroine.