Never Judge A Book By Its Cover
Five years ago this wee fella was born and we named him Chance, and for good reason. It had been four hours and he wasn’t nursing. If we didn’t get something into his belly, there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it.
We got his Mama into a ‘chute’, a tiny hallway that holds the cow so you can work with it safely. Our chute wasn't a fancy one; you can only access the animal from behind. I was on shit detail, so I’d hold the Mama’s tail out of the way, carefully watching her bottom bit so I could warn Chris of any impending recycled grass coming his way. He started milking her but nothing was coming out.
At this point a friend of ours had dropped by and walked down the field to find us. She is one of those amazing women who always looks beautiful, her hair done and make-up on. She knew by the sweat on our brows and the frustration in our voices that things weren’t going well. She offered to help and I politely declined, I just couldn't see it.
The newborn calf at this point was freaking out. I brought him around to the front of the chute and tied him there, so Mama and baby could see each other. During this fiasco I turn around and low and behold our friend had hopped the fence, and was milking Mama like a pro, the bottle already half full. And she was doing it without anyone on shit patrol. Brave soul.
She taught us her trick, and Chris took over. When we had a full bottle Chris held him and kept his mouth open so I could squirt the milk down his throat. We were soon both covered in the ‘white gold’ and the baby got a drink. I never would have thought our friend could milk a cow but then again, you never can judge a book by its cover.