Tiny The Cow

Almost every basketball team has a bald player named Curly. In addition, every prison yard has a guy who rules the roost named Tiny who is 6'7" and goes 285. But the Tiny from my past was a cow, a Holstein to be more specific. She was as big as barn door and likely weighed more than a Studebaker. I remember once ribbing granny that if Tiny continued to get wider, we would eventually have to rub her flanks down with axel grease so we could continue to get her in the barn. Do they have Weight Watchers programs for cows? Isn't it interesting that "THEY" (whoever they are) tell people that if they want to continue to keep the weight off, they need to stick to green salads and water for dinner every night. I'm here to tell you Tiny drank lots of water and her diet essentially consisted of prairie grass, but that never kept her from getting wider.

There is nothing I enjoy more in this life than fresh milk, and when I say fresh, I mean I still want to see the steam coming off of it. People who think pasteurization is really necessary are missing something splendid that life has to offer. My wife shutters every time she sees me tip up a carton of half and half. This delightful concoction tastes just like south-central Kansas right in my mouth. I can also tell you with certainty my wife would never drink milk straight from the bucket because she was totally freaked out when I told her that eggs originated from a chicken's vent which is consequently also where pooping and fertilization also originate. It takes me back to that old saying; "you know what that white stuff is on top of chicken crap is?" It's chicken crap! When she got this information, it seemed to be a little more than she could wrap her head around. Of course, she is the same woman who seemed surprised that the neighborhood stray that got our female dog pregnant didn't hang around to help raise the pups she was seriously pissed. I have but one question; did she think he was going to pay child support?

Okay, back to the milk. Raw milk with the cream still on top drank straight from the bucket has no equal. But the onery old cow it had to be milked from was sometimes (well let's use a PC word this time) challenging. In fact, many were the times when she was such a pain in the ass, I felt like it would just be easier to drive into town and just buy it from the Piggly Wiggly; who cares if it was 18 miles. But alas, granny was right when she said nothing worth doing is ever easy. If Tiny wasn't covering my coveralls in cow slobber, she was deliberately testing my anger management skills by (I swear at times) purposely kicking over the bucket. And she never did it five pulls in, she always waited until the bucket was nearly full. The funny thing about bovine saliva is once it gets on your clothes you can't just brush it off or throw it in the clothes washer like manure or mud and expect it to come out clean as the wind-driven snow. Once calf slobber gets on clothing it is as impossible to remove as the stain embedded in Monica Lewinsky's blue dress.