During my lifetime, I have milked many cows, and waded through much manure. I made a vow back in the late 1950’s never to milk another cow. Even now, I have no desire to break that vow. I am only too happy to use milk that we purchase from a store.
Wayne “worked out” one winter in 1955, helping a man build a house in Wichita, Kansas, some 95 miles away. He stayed there during the weekdays while I cared for our five children aged 1 to five years and did the farm chores. He only came home on weekends and once in a great while mid week. I enjoyed the weekend “vacations.”
One Wednesday evening, I walked through tall grass, plum thickets and a few sandburs over one half mile to the end of the pasture to herd our 7 milk cows to the barn. Being in the last stages of pregnancy was no help either. We had a lead cow named Blackie, a black Jersey mix. She was definitely the matriarch of the herd. As I herded a reluctant Blackie and the rest of the cows toward the lane that led to the barn, Blackie suddenly stopped, turned as she looked at me, and up went her tail and off she ran back to the same place I first found her. The rest of the herd was running close behind her. Being very pregnant, I could not run them down. Angrily, I trudged back to get all of them again. As I got her and the followers to the same spot in the lane, she repeated her earlier performance. I yelled "You old fool, just let your bag burst!" She always gave a big bucket full of milk when Wayne milked her and seemed delighted when she held it back when I milked her.
I am and was not a violent person, but I could have easily given ole’ Blackie a dose of buckshot. Unexpectedly, Wayne came home that evening and met me coming back to the house bawling my eyes out. He asked me what was wrong. He got more than an earful as he set out after her and the rest of the cows. I watched from the barn, secretly hoping she would do him like she did me. That old fool cow walked right up the lane, into the corral and marched right into her stanchion like a lady. Then, I really was furious at her. Wayne found all of this very amusing, but I was doing everything but laughing.
Wayne would often take the cattle to a pasture a mile or so away and when he wanted to move them, he tied a rope around Blackie's neck and led her with all of the rest of the cattle following her. It was a sight to see.
When I milked, I placed the smaller children in a box near the barn where I could see them. If a dog or cat would even act like they were going to get close to the babies, she would run them off by charging at them and butting them out of the way. The kids could even ride her. We kept ole' Blackie for 17 years before Wayne finally sold her.