'Building Character', or, The Great Milk Wars

You can't live on a farm without building some character. It's in the bylaws. There are many methods to achieve this, but Dad chose cows. Cows are perfect for this endeavor, because they are simple. There are only three laws that govern the phenomenon that is cow, but this is not a treatise on the psychology of cows. I am not the leading bovine expert either.

No, this is about the chore of milking. We all loved it. Going out to milk was almost as fun as singing the sunbeam song after eating 4 candies! Especially in AZ, in the summer, when it was 110º with the flies buzzing around to create a breeze to keep you chilled. What we wouldn't give for just one more time playing dodge-the-quick-tail-or-take-it-in-the-face, a true gentleman's game of timing, courage, and hitting the cow in the flanks with all your strength. I was so into this chore, I had a special pair of milking jeans that never came in the house. Light blue bell bottom beauties they were. Over time, they became less blue and took on more of the hue of cows, their great mentor and exemplar.

Wait, not even 15 years can change our feeling about milking that much! Let me get it right. Dad took it early on, but one day, I grew old enough to be a slave, and Doug Carpenter came over to teach me how to milk cows. He gave an inspiring pep talk about the job, including, as I recall, an account of his own personal vision of hell, which was "a herd of cows that needed him to milk them 24 hours a day for eternity." With these happy thoughts in mind, I sat down to build some character.

A trance like state arose, and it went slow. Too slow. So out was sent a brother to help, presumably he who protested less efficiently. Good intention on the parents part, but see, with 2 boys, each takes a side. And it doesn't take long to see the likeness between a squirt gun and the milking process. On those days, the milk production seemed lower, as noted by the bucket weighing. That was another reason I used my lucky milking jeans, even in 110º weather. See, water evaporates. Milk gets sticky when it dries. Eew. You wouldn't think there would be much call for aiming the business end of a cow without a clear view of your target, but surely this is great training for artillery, where you cannot see your target either.

I don't know if there was a clear winner declared, or whether there was just a cease fire, but I do know that no one has challenged me in all the years since. You decide. The cats, however, were spoilsports. They just stuck their faces out and caught the stream in their mouths. Spooky and Chessie, you should have won a cat show for that (Who says you can't train a cat?). Curiously, none of us owns a cow at present, nor have we any plans to. Guess we built enough character. Maybe the next generation will need a booster shot of chores. I have just the pep talk for them, it did wonders for me!