All the Milk Cows I Have Known Before...

                                                        

                                       All the Milk Cows I Have Known Before….

     Sunday evening found us sitting around the supper table listening to my oldest daughter lament the fact that she cannot find a milk cow. She has been on the prowl for a good milk cow for a while and so far, she cannot find a suitable one. My sweet son-in-law on the other hand is not so enthusiastic about her milk cow venture. Every time she brings it up he looks a little peaked. As for myself I feel that, although I do love a good milk cow, she is looking at past milk cow ventures while wearing rose colored glasses.  She and I were looking at a magazine and there was a pretty picture of a pretty woman wearing a cute little farm girl outfit, hugging her equally pretty Jersey cow, all the while standing in a meadow full of tall grass and wildflowers. My oldest was smitten with this picture and declared that she wished she had the outfit, and the cow.  See.. rose-colored glasses, or most likely Photoshop. Nobody looks that good hugging a cow.

The Husband and I have had a milk cow most of our married life. We have lots of “milk cow”, stories. From time to time, we make a trip down the” milk cow memory lane.” We reminisce about good ones and bad ones. We laugh about the one he brought home that was described, as…this is a true story. I could not even make this up and I have a wild imagination.  “ She’s so gentle a one armed man has been milking her!” She did not last a week! The husband decided that indeed he was one armed because she most likely kicked the other one off. We had one that gave so much milk we milked into a five-gallon bucket twice a day. We had four nurse calves on her and had to pull them off after about 5 minutes or they would scour themselves to death. We fed everything on the place milk. Chickens, dogs, cats, kids. The dogs thought they had hit pay dirt for about a week. Then they got to where they would run under the saddle house and hid when they saw someone headed to the barn with the milk bucket. Many dogs drinking lots of milk do not make for pleasant circumstances. It does not digest well. Poor things.

We always named our cows. We had Rosebud, Daisy, Bessie, another Rosebud, Killer, Hell Cow, etc etc. I could go on. We have had many cows. However, time and space you know...

Rosebud... she was a sweet Jersey - Guernsey cross and gave amazing milk, sweet with thick cream in top. We loved her. She drank antifreeze one day out by the shop. It was on a Sunday. The kids were wailing and crying because Rosebud was a goner for sure. The Husband was on the emergency vet hotline hollering so as to be heard over the sobs of his offspring He promptly hung up the phone and grabbed a bottle of Vodka. Which really made me mad. He was going to just sit under a tree and get soused while leaving me to deal with slobbering kids and a dying cow. He stomped out to the barn. The slobbering children and I hot on his heels. I was not going to let him off the hook. If I had to deal with all this then by golly, there was no way he would drink in peace. Then he surprised me. He got the cow in the corral, loaded her up in the chute and proceeded to “vein” pure Vodka into her.  No joke. The vet told him it would neutralize the antifreeze, and sure enough, it did. She wobbled a little and stood with her head down drooling in a corner for the rest of the day but she lived. We did not drink the milk for about a week after that. Seemed like it might be a tad on the toxic side. She lived to be a ripe old age giving the kids strong bones and teeth and raising a slew of calves. She should have a place in the “milk cow hall of fame.”

Daisy. Always beware of a Holstein. Especially one you buy from family. Especially when the family member does not know a good milk cow from a hill of beans. Especially when the words, “beautiful, sweet, gentle, amazing milk quality,” are used in her description. When these words are used in the description of a milk cow, you better wake up and smell the cream because somebody is doing some horse-trading.

Daisy was beautiful in a milk cow kind of way. She was a big as a small horse. Beautiful black and white hide. Small dagger like horns. Big thick muscular legs. With a tail that could reach out and slap you into next week. She was gentle, came when called, she would run you over as soon as she saw the feed bucket, knock it out of your hand trying to get to the feed, and stomp you in the mud all at the same time. The family member told us she loved people and to  be petted. She did not say that is when the small horn daggers came into play. She really wanted to gouge out your eyes. Oh yes, “easy to handle,” that is one description I left out you really want to pay attention to that one. Believing that will get you killed. The minute the husband put her in the milking stall…excuse the language. All hell broke loose. The dagger horns were in full use. Those muscular legs could kick. And kick they did. They kicked the walls of the stall.  They kicked the bucket. They kicked the husband. The husband kicked back. The fight was on. Somehow, I do not know how he did it, it was a feat worthy of a noble prize. He got her head in the milking stanchion. She bellered and bawled and kicked and flounced around. This not being the husbands first “rodeo”, so to speak retrieved a rope from the saddle house. He got it on a back foot as it flew past his face in midair. Threw it up in the rafter over the stall and hitched that big leg up until it was level with her backbone. He wiped the sweat from his brow, grabbed the now dented bucket and the wobbly milking stool and proceeded to milk. He milked and milked. Just a small squirt. He milked some more. Still nothing. Now he knew there was milk. The calf had been cut off her all night. Her udder was as big as a weather balloon. The old hateful bat would not let her milk down. Yes, that is a real thing. Yes milk cows have the ability to do that. Goats can do it as well, but we are not talking about goats. They might have their own story someday. Finally, she relaxed and here came the milk. It came with a price though because when the milk came she also let loose of other bodily functions. There were bodily functions all over the stall. Remember that tail I spoke of? You that have milked before know what happens to the milker when a tail covered with the bodily functions of a mad cow swats you in the face. It is not pretty and you learn fast and in a hurry to milk with your mouth closed. My poor husband emerged from the stall with a full bucket of milk, that was tinted green and a swollen shinbone. His shirt torn and manure dripping from his mustache. He had been to war and lived to tell the tale. I wish I could say the story had a happy conclusion. That Daisy because our best milk cow ever. That we all loved and adored her. But alas it was not the case. She was mean and hateful and the Husband had to go through the same scenario each time he milked. He did learn to gage the moment she turned loose of her bodily functions and leap out of the way, saving himself and the milk from unspeakable nastiness. It was a happy day when he unloaded the ole swine out of the trailer at the sale barn in Lovington New Mexico.  The fella that was working the back asked my husband,” good milker is she?” My husband just grinned and said, “yeah and easy to handle too.”

God Bless and Happy trails.