When we had the milk cow—we had one big white one—ahhh that was a big ol’ ornery miserable thing. Once or twice it would lift its foot up and put it right in the milk can. So you’d you have to finish the milking and then throw the milk away. Sometimes it would bend the milk can, and sometimes it wouldn’t. I usually put hobbles on them so they couldn’t kick. You’d put the tail underneath it so the hobbles would hold the tail too. That thing would swing around and you’d get wet manure on your face. Arleen told me a time or two “You’ve got to go wash your face, that cow has hit you with the tail again…”
One time while I was milking in the little milk shed we had, I put a little hay and grain in there so they’d eat it. While the cow was in there eating, a little grandkid came in, looked at the cow, and exclaimed “Grandpa, Grandpa, the cow is taking dog bites!”. All you kids know what dog bites is. Whenever anyone took big bites while eating, Grandma would say, “Oh, so you’re taking dog bites, huh?”.
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