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Due to previous bad experiences with dogs, we thought it kindest to our new 'girls' (or dairy herd) to keep our dogs tied up on our first official milking day. On foot ourselves, we gently but firmly brought them in - no noisy, smelly vehicle or relentless barkers and heel-nippers for us, as we proceeded to lead them - like over-large lambs to the slaughter, coming to meet their Milkers. And we were confident at this, our second milking, there would be no repeat of the morning's bedlam and mayhem following our exceptional and memorable 'false start'.
Now we were seasoned troopers, and as this second, more educated approach began to near its end, we were almost ready to heave a sigh of relief and congratulate each other loudly on achieving a new world record of 1-1/2 hours only. Well-ll-ll...you know how you shouldn't 'count your chickens before they're hatched'? Hmm-m, well you shouldn't start whipping up a milkshake before you've milked the cow, either.
Disaster loomed, and struck, from a totally unexpected quarter. Our youngest dog wiggled herself loose from her collar and chain, and came to see what Mum and Dad were doing. Gypsy understood she should make a wide detour around these gargantuan beasts, but unfortunately, this took her out onto the dirt road our dairy was close to (for ease of milk pickup).
What she didn't understand was what a road and traffic was, compared to the extra long driveway in to the farmhouse where she had been born and bred, not to mention the care all users had taken to ensure the safety of Mum Candy, and her 8 baby puppies. Admittedly, there was not much traffic on this road, but what there was went fast, and swerved for nothing smaller than a milk-tanker.
And so a truck hit her and sent her helplessly rolling over and over countless times. She was just barely able to painfully and groggily make her way towards us as we came flying out of the dairy, alerted by the truck's horn and the sickening thud.
My husband lifted her into a corner of the milk-room of the dairy and gently placed her on a hastily improvised 'bed' of hessian feed sacks. Then we faced Catch 22...truly, all of that and more. Couldn't leave the cows whilst they were milking, in order to get to the house and summon the Vet. And even if we could, a Vet from where? We didn't even know that yet.
Necessity therefore made the choice for us - just to keep ducking in and out to our darling in the milk-room as often as possible between rows of cows, and finish as quickly as possible. At first Gypsy was semi-comatose, but breathing evenly, though her pulse was rapid (mine was even more so!).
By the time we had finally finished completely, our beloved pet was fully conscious, licking our hands gratefully, profusely and lovingly. She took a little water, but still needed carrying home. Nothing, thankfully was broken and it seemed shock and soreness, and some tearing of the pads on her feet, were responsible for her inability to walk for some hours after her accident.
Apart from bruises and scrapes, Gypsy had survived - and never, for the rest of her long life of 17 years, would she come near enough to a car to suffer possible damage...except to jump on the back of our utility, of course.
Do you wonder that we slept like zombies on the night of our first day's milking? I remember murmuring, before exhaustion won out, "It can only get better from here on....surely!?!".
And it did!
You can read more of our lessons in dairy farming in my other Ezine articles that begin with - The Milky Bar Kids. If you want reading entertainment, you won't be disappointed as you follow our bumbling and humbling steps along our journey to final success. And there are pictures on my 'journal' site of farm stories and thoughts -
Kids at a Milk Bar?
Enjoy!
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