Pulling the Plug, or Got Milk?? pt 3
Sep. 28, 2009 6:49 pm
Updated: Oct. 5, 2009 10:16 pm
About 3 years ago, we took a job as ranch hands on a very large working ranch 110 miles from the nearest small town.
In this idyllic spot, the simple life has enveloped us, and consequently, we are once again enjoying "fresh squeezed" milk. I had a cow on Mothers Day...a Jersey, in fact, a gift from the wise and wonderful Randyman.
I requisitioned a rattan stool (Pier1) from the house as I had no milking stool per se, and happily pumped away morning after morning. Dolly, (aforementioned Jersey cow) would munch contentedly, frequently smacking me in the face with her tail, occasionally relieving herself with an unappetizing "plop", and perpetually swinging her hips to and fro (from TipMeOverNear to AlmostOutOf Reach) and of course, consistently trying to dip her foot in my bucket.
She quickly gained skill at the placement of her hind feet and managed to sink it right to the bottom of a gallon of milk. Tossing the tainted milk aside, blood pressure peaking, I grabbed some hobbles and tied her hind feet together, preventing any more of her attempts to stick them in my business.
With her thus trussed, I proceeded to refill the bucket, not noticing she was getting mad. She was apparently not fond of hobbles and began to kick wildly in an attempt to free her feet. Its a scientific fact that when two entities are tied tightly together, and one moves, the other goes with it.
Before I could say "who needs milk?" she came crashing down on top of me, crushing my stool and pinning my lower half under her belly...with my arms free, I managed to release the bar holding her head, as I was afraid she might break her neck...and managed to unleash several hundred pounds of big, mad, rubbery cow which sorta melted all over me. Realizing help would not arrive until evening, I managed to wriggle my way free and assume a nearly vertical position.
After getting Dolly back to her feet, I gathered up my flattened milk pail, what remained of my stool, and my hobbles, left Dolly and my pride in the corral, and fixed myself a cup of very black coffee and a bowl of dry cereal.
to be continued...
She sings, she dances, she makes milk!
Future cow wrangler
note the offending hobbles...
Milkmaids in training
She's got Betty Davis eyes.....
Little Emma...we wear the same size clothes...I probably shouldn't brag about that