Was I glad Phil came along! First, there was no way I could have dragged Reese singlehandedly down slope even the 50 yards she needed to go. She sets her hooves and stays put as long as possible. (I think she's still put out that we're not tempting her with grain.) But with Phil pushing and me pulling, we finally got her in place.
Second, while the Milking Devons had been up grazing during milking yesterday, this morning they were all nearby. Once Reese was tied to her cattle panel, they moved in as if they had free rein to demonstrate the power of their horns. Phil had his hands full keeping seven cows and heifers away from Reese. But this did not set her (or me) at ease.
Third, her owner had milked at 9am and 8pm. Since we're changing everything else on her, I tried to keep the time the same. But by 9am, the flies in the bottomland there were biting, and she, with her docked tail, has no recourse but kicking and dancing. Which is quite obnoxious for me.
And so we commenced. She knocked over the pail and lost perhaps another half gallon, but overall, I tried to be smarter. I put a second pail well out of reach and, whenever I had to jerk away the pail, I would empty it into the "safe" pail. This kept the losses down, but it wasn't entirely foolproof.
Then she lashed out with her hoof, sideways. I have read that cows, with their protruding eyes, have visibility just about all the way around. If they set their hoof down, they know where their hoof is going. So when she lashed out with her hoof and kicked me in the nose, I took it as a personal affront and stood up, screaming in pain and rage.
I was a bit surprised by the violence of my reaction. She didn't even kick me hard enough to make my nose bleed, though the bone ached for a few hours afterwards. It was the determination to do me harm that made me furious. I was not harming her, just milking her by hand instead of machine. Why should she be so nasty?!
I know the Bible says we should love our enemies, and pray for those who despitefully use us. Maybe that even applies to cows.
So Phil came up with a better idea this evening. We drove the truck down to the area Phil would be opening up as the new grazing area. After our extended time of tugging and pushing, we managed to get her up to the truck, while keeping the Milking Devons separated away. Now we had only one cow to deal with, in the open field with fewer horse flies. We tethered her to the truck, and I settled down to milk.
Again, she kicked over my pail three or four times. I lost count. While she didn't kick me in the nose, she did knee me in the forehead. Once I sat on my stool and she lashed out with her hoof twice in a row, kicking my arm.
In some ways, this sounds worse than it is. I'm not getting visible bruises. But terror is growing within me. She MUST be milked out, so quitting isn't an option. At one point, I held the pail in one hand and milked with the other, so when she'd kick, she'd hit the rim and side of the bucket with her leg, which couldn't have been comfortable. This didn't help train her.
Neither did hobbling. Phil tied her leg and held it while she kicked, constantly, like a piston. He took that off.
We finally ended with Phil squatting beside me. I milked for what felt, literally, like dear life, and Phil watched her leg. If a muscle twitched, he'd rap it with a screwdriver. Amazing: once there was an immediate physical repercussion, the kicking stopped!
Total milk for today: 2.5 gallons in three or so hours of milking.
In other news, I harvested a new treat for the first time today: ground cherries! I expect these will never catch on commercially, since they are tiny and low-growing, light, and each one requires peeling, like a tomatillo. But they are sweet, with a pineapple flavor. I hope we grow enough that we can make a syrup of some kind. Otherwise, I shall satisfy my sweet tooth with bits of explosive tropical flavor grown in Virginia.
We welcomed a half inch of rain that fell in a half hour. I love to look over the farm when the rain falls heavy.
And Phil and I picked tomatoes today. We have a heavy crop of the Principe Borghese drying tomatoes, so I have a batch of halved tomatoes in the dehydrator now, and tomorrow I will try drying whole ones in the greenhouse. Perhaps it will get hot enough in there.
We have been eating tortilla soup the last few days: chicken broth, with a quick salsa in the blender, made from farm fresh tomatoes, jalapenos, garlic, onions, and cilantro. Add a little apple cider vinegar and salt, fry up a few corn tortillas in farm fresh lard, and sprinkle these "chips" in the soup. Maybe some cheddar cheese, too. Absolutely delightful.
And so it goes. Good: Joe holds a pot where we put tomatoes, then he empties the pot into a larger tub. Bad: milking is stressful for cow and me. Good: Reese's udder is not feeling problematic at all, and she was in the grazing field, lying down when we found her. Bad: either we didn't water the cucumbers enough, or they have a blight (or both), but they are about played out for the season. (Eliot Coleman gets 50 cukes per vine, so we are extremely short on what we had expected.)
Good: we had delicious food today, and protection from harm.
You may be asking too much of her to cut her grain completely. Why don't you mix a grain ration with alfalfa pellets, thereby giving her a grain type feel without too much grain. Her milk production will be very dependent on the amount of grain she gets, so don't be surprised if she gives less than when she first came. Alternatively there are mollases treats [can't spell] which you could use to tempt and train her. There are strap hobbles that will take care of both legs, alternatively tie her tail above her back and she will be unable to kick...quirk of cow anatomy. Good luck.
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