Sirloin Antics

Calves are awesome. So cute. So curious. So very mischievous. Now that Juni is in school for a few hours each day, I finally have the time to learn and tame a calf. Sirloin is my first attempt.
I know what you're thinking. I'll get too attached. But I've been through this before. I bottle fed HotRod for four months, and once he hit puberty, I was more than happy to ship him off and get my check. They turn into ... well ... the equivalent to a human 15-year-old boy. But worse. Let me digress for a moment and describe our bull, Big John, at the moment...
- He waits by the gate all night for Cream to come into the pasture. (He's waiting to smell the I-can-get-preggers hormone) He spends his days strolling from ass to ass, sniffing and waiting. Pitiful.
- His curly hair on top of his head is frizzy, and covered in a mud-colored substance. Key words here are mud and colored. Of course it's not mud. That would be just disgusting. It's poop. That's right. He's completely and utterly disgusting.
- He doesn't mind the poop. Why, do you ask? Because it's an unfortunate risk he takes when detecting the I-can-get-preggers hormone. Which he detects by ... wait for it ... smelling and drinking the golden shower. He even scrunches his nose up to get an even better whiff. It is the most disgusting this you will ever witness. And Jasen thinks this cow has it made. A harem of heifers.
- He does what every 15-year-old boy does. By himself. (Infer here, please. I'm trying to maintain my ladylike impression). Except Big John can just do it into thin air. It's horrible. He's a walking ton-of-disgust.
- He's a wuss, but not before putting on a big show. Pawing at the dirt with his gigantic hooves. Bowing his head and thrusting it forward at me...all to deter me from getting near his ladies. Of course all I do is throw my hands in the air and he high-tails it into the middle of the field.

That is what my precious little Sirloin will become in 12 short months. A poop-wearing, piss-drinking, pleasing-himself moron.

So for now, I'm practicing with Sirloin, so when Cream does have a female, I can groom her personality like her mommy's.
Yesterday I hit pay dirt. He now eats out of my hand. And lets me relax in the field with him. And he's just too curious. Serious. He's too curious. Licking my jeans. Licking my arms. Licking my forehead. And, what earned him a pop on his cute little nose, EATING MY HAIR. Apparently, my hair looks worse than I thought. It looks like hay. Just what I need. Less hay-like hair on my head.
He then proceeded to pout. In the chicken coup. Disgusting already. But cute as can be.

My husband has a Girlfriend...

And she's a real heifer. Seriously. A cow. My husband is totally and completely in love with our pet milk cow, Cream. He milks her every evening, and a few weeks ago I caught him cooing to her. He brushes her, rubs her, scratches her. And she loves him right back. His truck pulls into the driveway and Cream, giant milk bag and all, clumsily runs to the gate to greet him.
We began milking Cream about a month ago after she had her calf, Sirloin. Hand milking is a unique experience. Cream is completely tame, so we don't hobble her, tie her up, or put her in a milking pen. We simply give her some food, and she chews contently while we milk. We didn't want to use a mechanical milker because of the cost, and the loss of connection to her comfort level. We wouldn't be able to tell if she was in pain. 
Before Cream delivered her calf, Jasen told me he knew how to milk a cow. I figured as much. But here's the thing...he learned from his 87-year-old grandfather. They used hot water to clean the udders and no lube. I nursed my son for 16 months, and this method seemed totally unacceptable. Water is not a chapped nipple's friend.
I couldn't get Jasen to understand why we needed to spend money on teat wipes and Udder Butter. Until I made a very poignant comparison. "How would it feel to have someone tug on a very sensitive part of your anatomy with scratchy, dry hands for 30 minutes? Think about it for a minute, honey. Seriously." His response? "Ahhhh! Stop! I don't even want to think about it! Okay ... I get it. Order it all tomorrow."
So now we spend the first few minutes loving on her, relaxing her and making sure she doesn't have any ticks or cuts that may hurt her. Jasen uses the wipes to meticulous clean her udders, and then lubes his hands and her udders with the cream.
The smell is glorious. It's a mixture of butter, milk, hay and comfort. And Jasen's hands are crazy soft, for the first time in his life. Added bonus!
Sometimes Cream becomes so engorged that milk squirts to the earth every time she takes a step. This drives Jasen insane. He can't stand to waste a single drop of her milk, because we all work so hard to get it.
Usually Cream stands still for us, and Jasen gets a half-gallon each day. It takes about 30 minutes, start to finish. He scoots his bucket next to her, and places his head in the soft fur where her hind legs meets her bulbous belly. He listens to the chorus of her intestines while Cream closes her eyes and chews, completely content.
But here's the thing. If Cream gets too relaxed and happy, she pees. I can strain out hair, dander, bugs, dirt. But there's no straining out urine. Each time she lifts her tail and bows her back, my job is to yell "pee!" at the top of my lungs before the golden shower hits my husband.
The other night Cream just would not move her leg, so Jasen milked her from behind. Juni whispers to me "Mommy...what if Cream pees on Daddy's head?" Just then, she lifted her tail and bowed her back. All I could yell was "Ahhhhhh....ppppppppp" before gallons of urine splashed to the floor.
The Redneck Husband deserves some credit...he's no pro athlete, but damn if he isn't quick to react. He lurched back three feet, milk bucket upright, his head unscathed from pee.

Watching Jasen milk the cow is hilarious. We don't trim or tie her tail, because we don't want her defenseless from the flies. That leaves Jasen taking whips to the cheek nightly. Every so often he milks her a little too excitedly, or a bug will irritate her tummy. That's when Jasen jumps backward before he takes a hoof to the head. She doesn't kick out of anger, but aggravation. She doesn't aim, like an unfortunate incident when Jasen tried to milk Buttercup (yes, Jim Beam helped), but simply raises her leg to let us know to knock whatever we're doing off. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body.
Last night we were all three at our wits' end. Cream wouldn't stop kicking, Jasen was exhausted from dodging her hooves, and I couldn't figure out how to calm her.
Jasen finally laid on the ground and looked under her bag (the place where the milk enters the udders). He saw giant horseflies relentlessly biting a spot the size of a nickel. Apparently, Cream injured the spot, and the flies took hold. We sprayed iodine on the area, and she immediately calmed down and stopped kicking. Sweet, sweet Cream. Jasen and I just love her gentle nature.

Milking Cream the Cow takes time. She grazes away from her calf during the day and he Houdini's his way out of his pasture at least twice a week. Milking her takes time. Straining and skimming the milk takes time. And then there's what to do with it all. The cream, churned into butter and buttermilk. Ice cream. Cheese. Yogurt. Jasen continuously experiments.
The raw milk tastes completely different than store bought. It's a full, round taste. I prefer mine completely skimmed, since whole milk from a Jersey contains 5.5-6 % fat (store whole milk is 4%). But that skim milk is more thick, creamy and delectable than the most expensive, organic whole milk from the store.
I'm a bit lactose intolerant, so the cultures in Cream's milk helps with my digestion. Pasteurization is a wonderful invention, but it kills the bad and good bacteria. As long as we continue our meticulous treatment of Cream and her milk, no outside bacteria should enter the bottles. So far, we've experienced nothing but amazing, fresh milk.
Jasen may have a girlfriend that is out of my league ... how can I compete with four tits and fresh milk ... but she's given him a hobby, me a sense of connection to the earth and my food source, and Juni an education about where his food comes from that I could never explain with words.
I can see Cream grazing out of my office window now. It's a beautiful, sunny day, and she's a beautifully fat, happy cow. Her calf is asleep in the sun. And we have a fridge filled with jugs of milk and cream, a crock full of butter, and a sinful batch of chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer. It doesn't get more beautiful.