Naturally, I took the day off after Mabel’s birthing ordeal to regroup and master milking.  After all, I  had an impending deadline since her udder wasn’t getting any smaller.

“Milk out Mabel”

I stood alone in the barn, staring at my supplies and pondering my next move.  Granny made me promise I would use the hobbles so naturally I grabbed those first.  I held them up and felt like I was holding giant paper clips.  How were these going to restrain an 800 lb animal?  This would clearly require a video tutorial so I jumped on google to find just that.  Believe it or not, two “U” shaped hooks with a chain in between can quickly become your best friend!

Next, I got everything ready and had my bucket, my cleaning wipes, my coffee and some grain in the stanchion.  In my head I took inventory of the alternatives I had in place just to give myself a little comfort.  While I fully intended to try milking by hand first, I lined up a milking machine locally that I had on hold in the instance milking by hand didn’t turn out.  If both failed, I also had a small goat milker with a hand pump that I figured could get the job done somehow.

Hand Milking:

I squatted down to get started…I wasn’t confident enough to be able to kick a stool out of the way if I needed to move.  I cinched my hobbles up to make sure she couldn’t kick them off (for the fifth time in a row).  I followed every piece of advice and cleaned her udder to a spotless state.  To clear each quarter of any junk and check for odd looking milk, its always good to put the first few streams onto the ground.   Unfortunately, I was only able to pull a good squirt of milk from ONE of the four teats.  I didn’t realize that most cows have to be trained to let down their milk supply for you.  Apparently I don’t resemble a calf.  It took some warm rags and a good udder rub to get the other three teats to drop some milk.

My new little milk factory was now standing in the stanchion with her head locked, hobbles on and milk-a-flowing.  Except she totally hated the idea of me ‘pulling’ it out.  With her moving around, occasionally eating, and me attempting to squeeze milk out….there was no time for a stool or a bucket.  I decided I was just going to milk what I could out onto the ground.

BAD IDEA.

The milk seemed to be never ending and about an hour late,r with a gallon of milk in the dirt, she decided she was also going empty her bladder and bowels as well.  I couldn’t blame her, she had been locked up for an hour.  Except milk, pee and poop make for a wonderful fly attraction.  I now had a nice muddy mess that she was slipping and sliding in.

3 Hours in I only had 3 teats milked out (that’s a far cry from the 20 minute milking times people spoke of).  My shoulders were twitching and my hands felt like they were going to fall off.  I had even tried the goat milker but it seemed to be pulling about as much as I could do with my hands.  I had the goat milker on one side that I was pumping with my left hand and my right hand was hand milking her.  Forget about aiming for a bucket, I couldn’t even get a steady stream.  (At the time, it didn’t feel like three hours as I was diligently working away, but as I rewrite this, it goes to show how laid back Mabel really is.  What cow stands tied up, the day after delivery, for the first time in a head catch, for three hours?!)

As the minutes passed, I felt myself getting a bit impatient.  The more impatient I got, the more impatient Mabel got.   I was once told that “cows know your intentions” and that totally rang true.  However, I needed to accomplish something as I was working in a single days time, so I kept pushing.  I thought it was best to let her out of the head catch so she didn’t develop a bad taste for it, and it seemed feasible to just follow her around and milk out what I thought was almost done.

Have you ever squatted down for three hours?  Or bent over for extended periods of time?  How about holding your hands straight out in front of you for hundreds of minutes?  If not, its the equivalent of running into a brick wall.  I was contemplating how many ibuprofen I could take safely at once.

As close as I was to what I thought was accomplishing my task, after milking out 3 teats, in 3 hours…with only one left….

I was NOT about to squat down for another hour.

I was willing to take all the risks of mastitis, infection, edema…you name it.  I figured she was on enough antibiotics from the day before that I probably had literally bought myself some leeway.

I called it good, and ran for the phone.  A baby calf was the only solution to this milk factory.  Remember, I had three hours to ponder this.  I called everyone and their mother, grandfather and distant relatives.  I even called old friends, new friends and anyone that would answer their phone.  I was on the hunt for a calf and if I had to sell my belongings to get one, I would.  There was no way I could spend 4 hours milking Mabel every day. I don’t care how long it would have taken me to get faster…clearly it wasn’t going to happen this week because this girl HAS LOTS OF MILK…and I was running short on patience.

With the press running word of my needs, the Vet called and said she had found someone that just so happened to have a little Holstein calf that he would be willing to sell.  In no hurry (sarcasm), I arranged to pick him up that evening.  So long as he looked like a cow, I was taking him home.  My farm granny had already called the local feed store where she had some “No-Mo-Moo” waiting at the front desk for me.  My instructions were to pick this up and pour it all over the new baby.  It removes the scent of foreign cows off of the calf and makes the transition for the new momma much easier.

(What momma wouldn’t love him anyway?!)

Poor Mabel must have still been under the influence of drugs because she honestly didn’t seem to care about all of the festivities.  My handy farm hand was on call and made a quick stop  to plug this new baby into the momma.  With a few nudges and a bit of guidance, the new baby was nursing away while Mabel ate her dinner.  Success!  I now had a little buddy to relieve my hands of the burden until I could pick up the machine milker I had located in a nearby town.

Remember the “Beauty School Drop Out, Turned Corporate…” part?  Yeah, you can’t reverse what you know about efficiencies…

…no matter how far Country you’ve Gone!

OH! The best part about milking by hand?  The cleanup!!  This is it…