How To Know If He’s a Keeper

This is for all you single ladies, aspiring/new dairy cow owners and anyone else who might want to chuckle at my misery.

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Milking – Thank you Cow Can’t Kick contraption!

Sunday evening I had my new dairy cow “home” for 24 hours. Lambda expressed her discontent at my milking technique by kicking the bucket and dancing around. Finally, for whatever reason (probably something I did wrong because let’s face it: I’m a nube.) she kicked me. We’re not talking about kicking the bucket over and nicking my hand. This was a carefully aimed karate chop that got me in the forehead, the arm and the thigh all in one foul swoop.

I proceeded to holler at my husband, who is currently nearing deaf old man status due to a couple of ear infections. After 5 yells, or something like that, he saunters over holding the baby and asks how it’s going. I don’t even remember what I said, but it was something like, “It’s not going! I just got kicked in the fricking head!!”

I turned into a soppy puddle of emotions. I apologized over and over because I thought for sure I couldn’t possibly milk that monster. He asked if we just needed to get a milk machine. That is after all what she’s used to. My response, “We need a freaking craigslist add, that’s what we need!”

Apparently my colorful language is lacking.

All evening Nic kept telling me I can do this. You need to know that I have a massive propensity to romanticize things. My romanticized version of dairying didn’t really have a kicking cow in it. But even when I told myself it might not be quite that smooth, I pictured a little spilt milk here and there. Go ahead, shake your head. But the Bessie I imagined was much more…friendly

In actuality, I can count more sore spots on my body that the times I’ve spilt milk. (Although I do occasionally have to milk one teat onto the ground when I can’t get the bucket right under her udder.) So I cried on and off all night long. Here I had hunted down a milk cow, dragged my whole family 3+ hours away to get her and she was such a poop!

I was rolling all of these things in my brain-the inadequacy, the bumps & bruises, I felt like I heaped a burden on Nic because I was being a wimp and on top of it we had to get up at the crack of dawn to do it again.

I’m so so so so sorry.

That’s when Nic put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You need to know that I’m not frustrated with you. At all. I would do this by myself everyday for my family.

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And that ladies, is how you know you have a good one.

Just when I thought I was irresponsible, irrational and wussy (Ok, maybe a little on that last one) in swoops my super-husband to rescue me. He reminded me that we made a decision that we felt this was best for our family’s health and he was going to make sure it happened.

God made men and women equal but different. Both in his image, but with different gifts. Even though I smell like cow half the time, I feel like quite the tea cup these days: feminine, fragile, even pretty somedays (you know under the snot and…stuff). But ladies, you know you’ve got a good one when he makes decisions according to what is true and good and stands for them. I’m so thankful for my sturdy thermos and God’s grace which has given us nine beautiful years.

Two vessels, both filled with the Spirit of God, but oh so different in form and function. 

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Let me tell you some things…


…about the last few days. I don’t even know where to start.

I haven’t worn my wedding rings in four days.

My body aches. Particularly my back, forearms, wrists, elbow (slightly unrelated to the rest) and fingers. Oh my poor fingers.

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Day 2

Day 4

Day 4

I have this lovely bruise on my arm with one on my thigh and a lump on my head to match.

I randomly break into tears. Also spent most of Saturday night crying.

This is starting to sound like domestic violence. So let me just tell you that I am the proud owner of not one, not two but three dairy cows: 1 “broken” heifer who can’t seem to hold on to a calf, 1 holstein bull calf and 1 bossy mama (¾ Jersey ¼ Dutch belt {the Oreo cows}) named Lambda, who is in milk. She just freshened last month. (And all of the country people nod in understanding at my broken body and emotions.)

Today is also my anniversary, which I failed to remember until I went to write the date on the milk today.”What day is it?” I asked out loud. I answered my self “The 16th…the 16th?!” And Nic beat me getting the words out of his mouth, “Happy Anniversary!”  We both laughed because we have a wonderfully enjoyable marriage and that’s exactly why we didn’t remember. We’ve been working hard on this transition to things that we feel like God wants us to do: hard work and discipleship. We’ve been so busy lately we don’t even know what day it is!

Anyways, it’s all my fault really. You could say it’s his fault for being such a good man, but…

I made him read the chapter in Keeping a Family Cow on the differences between Raw and Pasteurized/Homogenized milk. Nic likes to call it treated milk like they do in the UK. It has a nice negative connotation to it. Don’t get me wrong, these are absolutely necessary processes in order to get milk from dairies to milk companies to grocery stores and finally to your table. But they’re not necessary for the family cow’s milk. And most of my family doesn’t do well with processed cows milk. He read the chapter and immediately said, “I’m ready to buy one.”

For those of you who don’t know us personally. We live in a parsonage. You know, the type of house that pastors rent (fo free) as part of the salary package. You know, a house…with a yard. We don’t even have a piece of dirt to our name! (Which reminds me, Suzie-mom if you’re reading this: I’m beginning to seem like some other landless herdsmen we know. We’re not planning on our livestock camping permanently. Love you! Insert cheesy, please forgive my mess smile here. )

Can you say CREAM?!

Can you say CREAM?!

Wow, what a roller coaster.

It turns out this blogger made a convenient list of 10 reasons your cow might be kicking. We have subjected ours to at least 5. So, yeah. Sore hands (and everything else). Cranky cow.

But oh that fresh milk. And cream. And buttah!!!

It’s worth it for my family to healthy. But sometimes…I just have to cry about it.