My dad grew up on a tobacco farm. All during his childhood, his family got their milk from a cow they owned. Grandma was the one who milked the cow because she was the only one that it would let near her. Anybody else got kicked if they tried. As she milked the cow, all the farm cats come around hoping for a treat from the teat. Grandma would oblige them with a squirt from the udder right on the cats face, sometimes in the mouth. According to dad, grandma was a real sharpshooter and the cats would be happily licking really, really fresh milk off their faces.
My dad was the youngest of five kids and so he usually got to watch misadventures rather than participate in them. His three brothers were usually good kids when separated. But putting them together created some kind of Huck Finn critical mass that exploded into Darwin award style trouble. Like the time they got it into their heads that, by god, they were going to milk that cow whether she liked it or not. They waited until grandma was out shopping and set to work. I didn’t get the details, but grandma came home to find a hogtied cow and one son laying on the ground. the other two boys were trying to milk the udder into a bucket that they had to hold almost parallel to the ground. The unconcious son actually got off the lightest. The other two got beaten with a rod (the kind they hung tobacco on to dry) until they envied the injured one. Not that this changed them in any way.
The other event was when they thought it would be cute to take a picture of my dad as a little kid sitting on the cow. All they got was a blurry image of an airborne child.
I have even funnier stories of my mom’s family. But I’ll save those for later.
It’s a real shame, the loss of valuable, practical skillsets that this country used to enjoy as we’ve transitioned from an self sustaining, agrarian lifestyle to one predominantly more urban and consumer based. I imagine there was once a day when grandmothers everywhere were well versed in the art of teat management and aerial feline nourishment. Sadly, stories like this are now the exception, although they still rule.
I’ve always wondered how farm families actually use the milk of their own cows. Do they ice it down for an hour or two before drinking it, or do they drink it…ahem…warm? I don’t consider myself especially squeamish…I know what the skin of a bratwurst is and I have no problem eating those…but unchilled milk I’d have a hard time with.
My mother grew up on a farm and she’d drink it warm sometimes. She usually drank skim milk because they’d sell the cream. The milk that they kept for family use was put in a springhouse, built right over where the water bubbled up out of the ground, and it was always fairly chilly in there. Mom said she never used to like drinking the springwater though because it had sulfur in it and didn’t taste very good.
You donn’t actually have to be particularly accurately with a teat. Cats learn very quickly to catch the milk in their mouths. It’s actually more entertaining if you intentionally miss, so the cat has to do this sideways leaping catch thing.
Anyone else seen that picture of a cat sitting upright on its hind legs, while a farmer squirts a cow teat into it’s open mouth? That’s the first thing that came to mind. You’ve got to be a damned good shot with the teat to get it directly into the mouth.
That, and I think you’ve got to keep the cats out of the barn when you’re not milking the cows, or they’ll start to suckle on their own.
