Drive - A Memoir 29th Installment
stanchion.
“At least we’re smarter than this mass of utter destructive
meanness. Let’s try the hobbles.” Big mistake. We gave Spot an
extra helping of hay, and when she seemed calm; we hooked the hobble
to her tendon on the back of the left leg and carefully brought the
chain around the front and dropped the other hook on the right leg
tendon.
“Okay,
that was easy,” Russ said “I'll milk her this time.” He did and
she stood for it as she would do sometimes. Milking done I started to
take off the hobbles. They were a bit tight so as I pulled and pushed
Spot decided I was up to no good and decided to kick me out of her
life. The chain tightened, the cow panicked, and the rodeo was on.
The cow couldn't separate her legs to kick, but not for the lack of
trying. She went ballistic – head trapped in the stanchion and back
legs chained together – thrashing, jerking, jumping and bellowing.
The chain cut into her flesh, and the hooks pierced into her tendons,
but the damage only made her more panicked; and the harder she
fought, the more we panicked. Spot, fighting on three legs, with a
final jump and bellow went down stretching her neck in the vice–like
lower part of the stanchion. She was not bellowing anymore because
she wasn't breathing. The hobbles were tight, steel against flesh,
and we couldn't get them released. Russ and I stared at each other,
our eyes betraying our anxiety. We really didn't want to kill Spot!
We’d have to face the real fear of explaining to the Old Man how we
killed one of our milk cows. I went after the hobbles but to no
avail. Russ was jerking on the stanchion release lever, and as luck
would have it, the stanchion snapped open. Spot twisted her head out
and with a huge suck of air tried to get up. During one of her
rocking heaves to get her legs under her, there was a moment when the
chain was loose, and I was able to unhook the hobble. Spot gained her
feet and bolted out of the barn with nothing but a slight limp to
show for her near–death experience.
A
few months later, our little dairy farm had Cal–Ranch install the
newest innovation in modern machinery – an automatic milking
machine. The milking chores were easier after that and a bit more
fun. Wouldn't you know, after several times that the temperamental
Spot used her sweeping kick to gather up the new–fangled milking
machine and fling it against the back of the barn, the Old Man got
rid of the cow. Goodbye (and good riddance), old Spot.
Chapter
6
We
could tell winter was closing in because of the steady stream of
hunters showing up: first the pheasant hunters, next the Canadian
goose hunters, then the deer or elk hunters with their rifles in the
rear window gun
500 more words tomorrow
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