She’s trying to get her cow mad so she’ll get up and have a will to live. She’s carrying a wet (2 weeks overdue) calf up to the barn where she won’t shiver. She’s rejoicing to see a resurrected mama following up the hill, with the just-aggravating-enough jersey steer on her tail. She’s deciding whether to tell you about the new calf (Ellis, after the town in Kansas where her grandma grew up) now or after she learns to suck. She’s watching overwhelmed while the vet shows her h

Oh. I thought that cows came to owners like toys came in packages: in-tune, fit to its task, good as long as you don’t wear them down excessively. At least, that’s what it seemed while I was milking under the Dougherty’s cows, with legs outstretched, forehead cocked against a warm hide, and milk flowing. Imagine my surprise when, reaching down to politely squeeze my potential cow’s kind teat, she shot out her hoof at my hand! This sweet encounter of cow meets owner has turned