Now that I’m a farmer I had to further my education by taking part in a “Celebrity Cow Milking Contest” where I brought neither celebrity or milking experience. In fact, being a city kid, I’ve never been around farm animals, EVER, unless rats the size of chickens count. But I digress.
I was introduced to Butterfly and we definitely had a moment. Our eyes locked and she nuzzled her mucus encrusted nose toward my neck; I pulled away. Buttercup violated Rusty’s Rules of Farming– I love all things farming as long as I don’t get dirty, wet or smelly and definitely don’t get too close to animal secretions from any orifice.
Butterfly and I were not meant to be because she didn’t understand “personal space” and my rules for farming, so I selected another cow when it came time for the extraction of the magnesium hydroxide.
There I was, like TB12 under center ready for the hard count. When I heard “GO” I pushed up, squeezed tight and pulled down and twisted just as google instructed me to do. I got a nice satisfying squirt of cow-juice into the cup and thought “this isn’t so hard” but cow had other ideas. She wiggled a little as I yanked for the next squirt and I had a feeling she wasn’t happy. Up came her cloven hammer and BOOM, she stepped on my foot and gave me a hip-check that sent me ass-over-teakettle to the ground.
Needless to say the next 49 or so seconds were a battle of will between me and cow. She was fidgety and obstinate and I was sore and undaunted. I squeezed, I tugged, and she bobbed and she weaved like a prize fighter. Unfortunately down came the count and we had to retreat to neutral corners.
My dreams of becoming a cow milking champion dashed in my first attempt. Final count- less than a teaspoon, a sore foot, and cow-fluffery all over my clothes. I’ll do better next year because, I am a farmer now!