When I was a lad I spent ten summers of my youth on my grandfather's dairy farm in Lake City, Michigan. Every day Grandpa Hillman would drag us out of bed at 6:00 a.m. and we'd trudge down to the barn where we'd wrangle the cows into their stalls and help Grandpa milk his 40 head of cattle. Then we'd head out to whatever field they were pasturing in each afternoon, walk them back to the barn, and do it all again before suppertime.
In between we'd bale up hay or fill up a truck with corn from the silo and drive over to the grainery in McBain to have them grind it up into feed. About twice a week we'd muck out the stalls in the barn and load it into the manure spreader and go fertilize one of Grandpa's fields. There was always something to occupy our time and every evening he and Grandma would drive us into town for an ice cream treat and a quick swim in Lake Missaukee.
Ahhh, good times. Good times.
But now technology has come to the family farm and the cows can milk themselves.
On the one hand, I have to marvel that we've reached this point. On the other, I mourn for some grandchild who's going to miss out on the wonderful memories an honest day's work in the country air will bring.
From a forgetful cow you'd get Milk of Amnesia.
When the bull lays down in the field, we call that bull-dozin'.
You know why the cow jumped over the moon?
The farmer had cold hands.
Do Russians get their milk from Moscows?
What's the favorite key for cows to sing in?
I knew a farmer with a sick cow. The vet said it was the worst case of hay fever he'd ever seen.
Yesterday I saw a cow walking backward. It went, "Oom."
I heard about this cow who could actually drive a car. Had to quit after getting a ticket, though.
It was a moo-ving violation.
I read about a scientist who crossed a cow with a duck because he was in a mood for milk and quackers.
[selected from all over the web and rewritten for this post by Mark Raymond]
WORDS for YOUR WEEK: "As for butter versus margarine, I trust cows more than chemists." (Joan Gussow)
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