I did it!

I got my nerve up and milked Bonnie.  I put the calf in the stall overnight so there would be milk for me, but after I had done so, I noticed Bonnie's back quarters appeared to have quite a bit of milk in them.  If I had waited an hour or so, the calf would probably taken care of it, since he's finally managing to consume all the milk she produces.  But it was getting late, so I decided to milk the excess myself.  
She was somewhat restless, and I was a nervous wreck, but I made it through the task.  Then yesterday morning I let the calf nurse on one side and I milked on the other, and this worked like a charm.  The cow stood firmly in place, except when the calf butted her trying to get more milk.  
Someone left a comment suggesting Cliff do the milking.  Ha!  It wasn't Cliff's choice to keep a dairy cow; he hates milking.  I'm the one who insisted on buying a Jersey.  It isn't like two old people need that much milk.  Also, Cliff's hands are so big that he'd have to milk with thumb and forefinger, and it would take him an hour (he did offer, by the way).  With his arthritis, an hour of sitting on a stool bending over a bucket would be pure hell for him.  
Cows used to have larger teats, but once milking machines became common, one trait breeders strove for in dairy cows was smaller teats.  Why?  Because the bigger the teat on a cow, the more likely it is to get stepped on by another cow, or to freeze in winter.  So these days, dairy cows have huge udders with small teats.  
Anyhow.  After buying two half-gallons of milk since the incident, looks like we're back to raw milk.  
The grandson, who took over Cliff's job when he retired, is now working twelve hours a day.  This was going to leave Titan, the Great Dane pup, alone for much of the time, so Arick's girl friend is bringing him by here so I can dog-sit.  He's a good pup, and sticks very close to the house at all times, so he's no problem at all.  
Because there is so much work at Cliff's old place of employment right now, he may have the chance to work there part-time, maybe one week out of the month.  I have mixed feelings about this, but it's up to him.  He could replenish his tractor fund with the extra moolah, which would be great for him.  But will it feel like retirement if he has to go back to work sometimes?  Or maybe he'd enjoy getting out and seeing his old gang at work; I'm leaving it totally up to him and keeping my mouth shut.  
Here's a blog I just discovered:  I read an article in Reader's Digest yesterday, "Things nurses won't tell you", and the article mentioned that one of the nurses they quoted has a very interesting blog.  "Head Nurse" uses some graphic language, so if you are easily shocked, you might not enjoy her brand of humor.  I found her delightfully, refreshingly funny.  

Ah, the country life for me

I haven't bought any milk since my Jersey cow, Bonnie, gave birth. I get plenty from her to supply me and Cliff and his sister Rena next door. I put her calf up overnight when I want milk, and next morning I take half of what she gives, leaving the other half for Sir Loin.

This is a sharp contrast to the way it was for all those years I milked cows and fed the excess to bottle calves and pigs. Back then I was forced to milk twice a day, rain or shine. But I was younger, and I really loved doing it. Now the calf takes care of the milk until I need some, which is about twice a week (we don't drink that much, but I skim the cream off for butter... and Cliff's sister uses some).

Because we've had problems getting the timing right with artificial insemination for Bonnie, we're going to take her to Cliff's brother's place for a visit with a Polled Hereford bull. She should come in heat Sunday, and if all works out, we'll bring her home Monday or Tuesday. Of course Sir Loin has to go along, to relieve her of her milk. We're also taking the brother-in-law's two whiteface heifers home; they're safely weaned now.

I was going to collect a gallon of milk this morning, to supply us while Bonnie's gone. There was a torrential downpour going on, so I put on coveralls and boots and got an umbrella. I took the usual small towel to wash her udder, plus a bath towel to dry her body on the milking side. Because I don't want rainwater running off a dirty cow dripping into my bucket of milk.

Bonnie has gotten to the point where she will "let down" her milk for me, without her calf being there. This is a good thing, because that Baby Huey of a calf butts at her and manages to drink his half of the milk in a minute flat, while it takes five minutes or so for me to get my gallon. I usually milk at least half-a-gallon out, then let the calf in while I finish milking my side.

But this morning Bonnie wouldn't let down her milk. Okay then, I'll let the calf in and fight with him for it, I says to myself.

He began butting at her udder like crazy; she wanted to kick at him to suggest he stop that, but that's her baby, right? So she lifted the back leg on my side. Oh, she didn't kick me; she wouldn't do that. But she kicked the bucket, getting barnyard muck on the edge of it and spilling what milk I'd collected.

We'll be buying a half-gallon of milk this week.

"Don't cry over spilt milk" comes to mind.

Milking day

I'm milking Bonnie two or three times a week. Not that I need that much milk, but I want her to get used to how the routine goes... if that's possible, when done only twice a week.

Remember when I blogged about how easy it was to milk Bonnie? So easy that I could just go out there in the pasture and do it?

She got wise, and realized I was stealing some of her baby's milk. Oh, she didn't get mean or anything; she just walked away every time I started to milk. So now I give her some feed and milk her in the stanchion, where she can't get away.

Last night I noticed the cows were nearby, so I called them into the little lot and gave them all a bite of feed. While they were occupied with that, I drove Bonnie's calf, Sir Loin, into the horse stall and closed the door. This way I know there will be plenty of milk in the morning.

Today when I stepped outside, all the cows, including Bonnie, were in the big lot relaxing and chewing their cuds.

And then I called to her: "Here Bonnie, sook-calf."

Don't ask me why people call cows that way; I learned it from my daddy.


Watch the video and see her reaction for yourself. Be sure you have your sound on.

She knows where her baby is; not behind that silver door; that's where I will be milking. But behind the sliding door to the right. She has her nose right in the crack where it opens.

I go in the barn and coax her into the stanchion with some feed. This morning it took awhile to convince her. Once she's in, though, she is quite well behaved. No kicking, no struggling.

Once she's trapped, I step out and turn Sir Loin loose. He always wants to hurry to my side of the cow, but I push him over there where he belongs. Bonnie lets her milk down, and I get a gallon out of my side.

When I'm done, I turn them out together; they won't be separated again until I decide I want some milk.

Here's a note of interest, at least to me. I got this entry ready to post and decided to Google "sook calf". I found the definition of that was "a hand-reared calf". Not exactly my own definition.

Then I searched for "sook cow" and got what I was looking for. On a discussion board about Irish and English accents, I found this paragraph buried deep in the discussion:

"Sook, sookie or sook cow is the local cry farmers use to summon the herd and comes from the Old English sucan meaning "to suck"."

Do you suppose my daddy had some Irish in his background?