Don't Touch The Cow...

If I close my eyes, I can still smell the coffee brewing and the fresh bacon cooking in the iron skillet on my Granny's stove.  The bacon had just been sliced from the smoke house where the meat was being smoked.  My Granny was an outstanding cook and would have the breakfast on the table soon after Paw came back from the barn where he milked the cow.  The kitchen was medium size, and the table was in the center.  In the winter there was no danger of being cold because the small gas heater kept the room so warm, you'd swear you had just visited lucifer in his bathroom after a hot shower.  After breakfast is when the real work began.  I was raised on an almost completely self-sufficient farm.  We had our own chickens, eggs, hogs, cows, milk and butter.  We had every fresh vegetable we could produce, and the corn we grew would be turned into corn meal ground fresh by my Paw and his grist mill.  I was a "spirited" child, and most would say I was downright mean.  I cussed and kicked shins, but my favorite thing to do was BITE.  There is a long line of friends who suffered the wrath of my biting hobby.  I was punished and given a good talking to, but heck, I would gladly take getting in trouble because I had no intentions of stopping.   

One day in particular, my Paw allowed me to go to the barn with him to milk.  To this day I can't understand why that man thought it would be a good idea to take me with him, but I reckon he was feeling brave.  Our barn was across the road, and I was NEVER allowed to cross the road by myself.  We walked out of the house, down the steps, and headed for the road.  Paw held my hand, and we looked both ways and crossed when it was clear.  I can still hear the screech of the gate opening for us the enter the feed lot.  It's still amazing to me how the cows knew exactly when milking time was in the morning and evening, because they were there and ready to go when Paw would walk in and sit down.  He would always carry a 5-gallon bucket to sit on, and his milk bucket to catch the milk.  My Paw was a big man, standing around 6'4 and weighing a strong 200 pounds.  He had jet black hair and always wore his overalls.  Well...  We walked into the stall where the first cow was.  She was eating her food with no concern for us being there.  I was following close behind Paw when he turned his big bucket over to sit down.  I was just a small girl in stature, but I knew I was safe when Paw was there.  After he was set up and ready to milk, he turned to me and said "Now Tina, whatever you do don't touch this cow.  She is a little skidish and don't like to be touched."  When he said that, a wave of curiosity rushed over me.  I remember thinking, if I just tap her on the rear end, surely, she won't even notice.  So, I looked at Paw and he was deep in thought as he was milking, never looking at me or having any idea what was about to happen.  I had fought the feeling all I could, so I reached up and slapped that cow right on the back left hip.  I'm not talking about a tap; I'm talking about a full fledge slap on the rear that NOBODY could mistake.  As soon as I made my move, that cow started kicking!  There was hay flying everywhere and I'm pretty sure I saw a cow patty fly past my head.  As the cow patties were flying, my Paw was flying off his bucket!  Paw went one way, the 5-gallon bucket went the other, and the milk went straight up in the air.  The last I saw of that cow, she was stretched out running for the back side of the pasture like she had the ghost of Secretariat running for her.  I could see this thru the gigantic hole she had kicked in the back wall of the barn.  After this, I was sure my Paw would take me and tie me to the next vehicle that past on the road and hope it took me as far away as I could go.  Not only did I ruin the milk and made the cow go crazy, Paw's precious bucket was destroyed!  The only thing left was the top half that still had the handle holding on for dear life.  When the poop and dust cleared, Paw picked up what was left of his trophy bucket, gazed through the crater of a hole in the back wall, and took my hand and headed for the gate.  At this point I felt pretty sure I was in the clear, but not completely.  We still had to cross the road, so I kept my antenas up just in case he was going to wave down a car.  I had made it!  I was still at our home headed up the steps into the house.  Paw didn't say a word the entire way.  Not a peep!  At this point I knew I was about to see Granny and I was home free.  As we walked into the kitchen where Granny was waiting to take care of the milk, she asked "Where's the milk?"  Paw looked her in the eyes and said, "Inez, don't ever ask me about the milk.  This little girl has caused more damage in the past 20 minutes, than any tornado that would ever touch down."  The last words I remember his saying was, "She didn't even give me time to tell her DON'T TOUCH THE COW"!