Read Online Till the Cows Come Home by Judy Clemens - Free Book Online
Authors: Judy Clemens
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worried glance when I got in the barn, but I shook my head and looked away.
Most of the cows were already in stalls, and the rest sleepily made their way into one as Howie and I prodded them and slapped their huge haunches to get them moving. Queenie did her part to coax them into place, weaving around their legs and giving high, happy barks. There was the occasional oddball cow, who either didn’t want to go into a stall or wanted to go into one that was already occupied, but for the most part they behaved, which was good since I wasn’t in the mood to deal with delinquents.
We stepped around them, making a quick check for anything unusual, and got them hooked in. Each cow wears a chain around her neck, like a necklace, and we simply attach it to a hook in the milking stall. She still has plenty of room to move around, but we’re assured she’s not going to start working the room. Once we had them all clipped in, Howie started to feed them while I went to get the milk flow going.
I stood at the head of the row and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to find peace in the quiet rhythm of the morning. I could feel adrenaline making me shaky, and knew I had to stay on task if I was going to do my job. Thank goodness the generator was working well and everything could technically go on as usual. Howie had the radio tuned to Temple University’s classical music station, and the sound soothed me, as well as the cows. I had tried every kind of music, but as far as I knew I had the only die-hard classical fans in the dairy field. They liked calming composers like Ravel and Debussy, especially. Mozart and Beethoven were fine, but they tended to get the cows a little more worked up.
I shook myself out of my stupor and started with cow number one, wiping her udder with a wet paper towel to get off manure and straw, then attaching the milking hose to each teat. The hose works in two ways—first it suctions, then pulses, like a calf would do to get the milk going. I got the first four cows pumping, and started cleaning off the next four. I had four sets of hoses working at once, and tried to work ahead so the next four were ready when the first ones were depleted.
I never wear gloves when I’m milking, because I enjoy feeling the leather-like skin on the udders. Before milking, the udder is taut, like a drum, and you can feel the fullness of the milk. Once the udder has been emptied, it is soft, supple, and limp. Until the evening, anyway.
The first four got milked dry, so I unhooked the hoses and got the next ones going. Then I went back to the first ones to spray their teats with antiseptic. Being the first to be done, they would have the longest to relax and eat after their milking.
Howie and I went through the motions, occasionally saying something, but mostly going from chore to chore, patting the cows and doing our best to avoid urine streams which shot out at random. We were on the last set of cows when we heard Queenie start to bark at a truck pulling in the drive.
“Probably your new boyfriend,” Howie said. He stretched his back as he looked out the window. “Looks like a healthy one.”
I threw a bunched-up paper towel at him and stood to look out the window. He was right. Nick’s Ranger was parked next to the heifer barn, and Nick himself was climbing out of it. The events of the morning had pushed his existence from my mind, which was hard to believe. Today he had on a blue T-shirt and another pair of those well-fitting jeans. Queenie was already getting her head rubbed, and her tail was wagging so hard her rump was moving from side to side. I had to make sure to keep my butt in line when I talked to him.
“Gonna go out and greet him?” Howie said. “Don’t want to miss a chance to see him up close.”
“Oh, can it, Howie. I’ll go out, but just to make sure he knows what I want done.”
“Sure,” Howie said. “You do that.”
I left Howie grinning to himself and went out to talk to Nick. He
Most of the cows were already in stalls, and the rest sleepily made their way into one as Howie and I prodded them and slapped their huge haunches to get them moving. Queenie did her part to coax them into place, weaving around their legs and giving high, happy barks. There was the occasional oddball cow, who either didn’t want to go into a stall or wanted to go into one that was already occupied, but for the most part they behaved, which was good since I wasn’t in the mood to deal with delinquents.
We stepped around them, making a quick check for anything unusual, and got them hooked in. Each cow wears a chain around her neck, like a necklace, and we simply attach it to a hook in the milking stall. She still has plenty of room to move around, but we’re assured she’s not going to start working the room. Once we had them all clipped in, Howie started to feed them while I went to get the milk flow going.
I stood at the head of the row and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to find peace in the quiet rhythm of the morning. I could feel adrenaline making me shaky, and knew I had to stay on task if I was going to do my job. Thank goodness the generator was working well and everything could technically go on as usual. Howie had the radio tuned to Temple University’s classical music station, and the sound soothed me, as well as the cows. I had tried every kind of music, but as far as I knew I had the only die-hard classical fans in the dairy field. They liked calming composers like Ravel and Debussy, especially. Mozart and Beethoven were fine, but they tended to get the cows a little more worked up.
I shook myself out of my stupor and started with cow number one, wiping her udder with a wet paper towel to get off manure and straw, then attaching the milking hose to each teat. The hose works in two ways—first it suctions, then pulses, like a calf would do to get the milk going. I got the first four cows pumping, and started cleaning off the next four. I had four sets of hoses working at once, and tried to work ahead so the next four were ready when the first ones were depleted.
I never wear gloves when I’m milking, because I enjoy feeling the leather-like skin on the udders. Before milking, the udder is taut, like a drum, and you can feel the fullness of the milk. Once the udder has been emptied, it is soft, supple, and limp. Until the evening, anyway.
The first four got milked dry, so I unhooked the hoses and got the next ones going. Then I went back to the first ones to spray their teats with antiseptic. Being the first to be done, they would have the longest to relax and eat after their milking.
Howie and I went through the motions, occasionally saying something, but mostly going from chore to chore, patting the cows and doing our best to avoid urine streams which shot out at random. We were on the last set of cows when we heard Queenie start to bark at a truck pulling in the drive.
“Probably your new boyfriend,” Howie said. He stretched his back as he looked out the window. “Looks like a healthy one.”
I threw a bunched-up paper towel at him and stood to look out the window. He was right. Nick’s Ranger was parked next to the heifer barn, and Nick himself was climbing out of it. The events of the morning had pushed his existence from my mind, which was hard to believe. Today he had on a blue T-shirt and another pair of those well-fitting jeans. Queenie was already getting her head rubbed, and her tail was wagging so hard her rump was moving from side to side. I had to make sure to keep my butt in line when I talked to him.
“Gonna go out and greet him?” Howie said. “Don’t want to miss a chance to see him up close.”
“Oh, can it, Howie. I’ll go out, but just to make sure he knows what I want done.”
“Sure,” Howie said. “You do that.”
I left Howie grinning to himself and went out to talk to Nick. He
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