Steve and I were a sight for sore eyes Tuesday morning while we milked together.
As we find ourselves getting older, we find that we are much slower at many things than we used to be when we were youngsters in our 20s.
Being tied down to the couch because of illness isn’t just a one day ordeal anymore. Heck, when we were young we still worked like mad when we were ill.
Hacking because of a cough, didn’t slow down the well-oiled machines we were.
A sprained ankle? Forget about!
Cast on the foot? Cover that baby with a bread bag.
We had to carry milking units between cows, throw feed to the cows using a silage fork-I miss seeing my biceps bulge – and unloaded 13 wagons of small-square bales one at a time.
Five loads with almost 200 bales on it were wimp-work for us.
Being out of our prime became very apparent this particular Tuesday morning.
Steve was feeling under the weather. His cold was throwing him under the John Deere tractor in our shed.
He finished milking with me and even helped finish all the chores after milking. He felt “good enough” to help with cleaning the manure out of the holding area. We put fresh bedding in the second barn.
His body allowed him to attend a meeting in the morning with the Farm Business Management lady.
He sounded like crap when he talked. His voice was all gargley. I told him he should not go to the teachers house; she probably didn’t want him spreading sick germs anywhere near her young children.
They had their meeting in the garage!
I can’t say too much.
I wasn’t in all that great of shape Tuesday a.m. either.
While milking, during his moments of cold-induced weakness, a cow kicked the teat-dip cup out of Steve’s hand. It flew toward the front of the cow, just out of arm’s length.
“Here, just a minute,”I said, “I will get it for you.”
I tossed the water hose, with a spray nozzle on the end, near the teat dipper. It’s very handy to use the handle on the nozzle as a hook.
Just as I tossed it forward, the cow kicked in the perfect direction to land her foot directly on the top of my arm.
This happens quite frequently in the milking parlor. Most of the time the 1800-pound beast will feel the uneven ground and step off my forearm.
No harm done.
It just so happens that in this particular melee, Steve was standing right next to me, and he gave this beast a shove.
He shoved her as hard as he could.
Well, if you don’t know cows like I know cows, here’s what happens when you push a cow.
She pushes back with all her might. When you stop pushing, she stops pushing. One time, an employee was pinned between a cow and a post and he yelled for me to help him. I just looked at him and calmly said, “Quit pushing her.”
She quit trying to turn him into a pancake and he walked away a little red in the face.
So…when my doting husband tried to push the beast off the love of his life, well she dug in – right into my forearm. and I mean she dug and tried extra hard by grinding her left hoof into my skin.
All I could do was scream, “Ow! Ow! Ow!”
My arm was toast. It felt like ground-up toast.
I have no idea what ground-up toast feels like, but my arm really hurt.
My right arm was out of commission. Steve was slower than molasses.
We were a sad sight, but with no other bodies them to help finish, we were stuck with each other gimping along.
It’s several days later and my forearm is the size of the sausage stick I saw in the deli case at Cashwise. It’s probably going to turn the same color too.
Age sure makes illness and injury a problem.
Till next time…HUGS!