Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Milk- Cow

"Really!!!, was he totally serious," as I read the list of chores left to me by my former Father -in-law it went something like this:
Milk Cow
Now what the heck was I to do with that, the day before I was out visiting Mom and Dad and they had a few things they wanted me to look after and in my haste and attention deficit disorder I was half heartily listening to Dad and I figured he was leaving the list so all was well.   "Now what?" why didn't I listen, don't get me wrong, I have milked a cow or two or 4 or probably 2 yep just two in very controlled situations. Brownie our first cow, (maybe there was just one cow at different times)  anyhow, I distinctly remember sitting Under, but now would be sitting next to comparable in size, I should really be nicer to myself. Thank you Cathy for those wonderful cookies you brought over tonight they were so good I had to eat 2, they had nuts that's healthy right?   I have established that back then I was practically Under Brownies Udders. Milking a cow is a special technique all its own and the wooden fake with the water filled glove at the kiddie farm is NO WAY near in likeness to the REAL teet. I grew up in the city, with no wide open spaces bigger than our 20 x 20 yard and full of that amazing Diesel air freshener /smog smell that I was so used to, not the stench of cow pies and bladder leakage that was ever so the scent of fresh flowers to my Ex's nose ( as I crinkle mine sitting here recalling the nasalpharengyeal dance it did in my tortured nostril memory)  I got 99 out of a hundred on my  spelling of medical terminology exam, that was the 1 word I most assuredly missed.   There I was in all my citified girlie glory learning how to milk OUR cow properly, but hey I had an instructor next to me so I was not flying, excuse me-, squeezing solo, I had help, and when we had a barn for said Milk Cow at a different place of residence we had a special made cow holder while merrily milking along.  I'm sitting here trying really hard to think of what the name of that cow holder is called, it will come to me before I'm finished I'm sure.  This cow holder did not come with HOBBLES(remembered that ranch/farm word, go Lisa!)  for the cow, and for you horse people you know exactly what those are. For you uneducated to the country folk they hold all four feet of a horse while your delicately and gently training the 200 pound Texas Walker, oh shoot I mean Tennessee Walker, so it doesn't leave you fractured into tiny pieces on the pasture floor.  I left that in that was an honest flub of horse names, didn't feel like retrieving it.  Brownie did not have hobbles ( and I never thought to use the horse ones , that would of ticked her off)so she was free to do her own cow dance while her teets were being massaged, and she showed her gratitude just at almost the top of the bucket with a big ole Kick a roo!  But hey she was still contained in the cow holder.  So when I read the LIST with the words " Milk Cow", and Old Betsy (Mom and Dads cranky dairy giving cow)was standing out to pasture that I would of trained for a 5 k in one day trying to catch,  and not recalling where they were storing any of the equipment, since after milking you bring whats left in the bucket into the house and use what looks like coffee filters on steroids and a specialized made for home milking of any animal strainer, plus the glass jar to pour your fresh squeezed and no pulp milk into, I was totally baffled and bewildered of how to solve this problem.  Racking my brain over and over trying to remember what Dad had said, wishing with all my might I would of just listened, I headed down to the barn list in hand to look for my items needed.  SHUTE- cow holder!  As I was looking at the list and walking I read it over and realized Dad had written it hastily as well and must have been distracted too. I laughed as I walked extremely elated back to the house to  FEED MILK COW! 

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