Barns And Jersey Cows

I found myself reminiscing this morning about an evening a number of years ago. My husband had scheduled an appointment to look at a Jersey milk cow and a young heifer he'd seen advertised in the Farmer's Bulletin. He'd jokingly told me since the year we married that he was going to buy me a milk cow someday. *Someday* had arrived.

We all piled in the van to make the trek to this man's farm hoping to arrive before dark, and I began to feel a little apprehensive about getting cows before having a proper barn in which to put them. My husband assured me they'd be alright in our make-shift shelter. The opportunity was to great to pass up.

When we finally found the place, it had grown quite dark. The kind and knowledgeable gentleman stood at the end of his long driveway beckoning to us with his flashlight so we'd know we were at the right place. We parked. He led us to where the cows were waiting to be milked, pointed out the ones my husband had inquired about, and prepared to enter his *BARN* in order to give us a milking demonstration. I laughed and laughed to myself because his *BARN* destroyed my preconceived notions of what was absolutely necessary. What I saw was an old school bus minus its wheels and seats. It was sitting on the ground with the doors open. He proceeded to call our cow, #36 out of the herd. She immediately walked through the side door and into the *BARN*. He tied her to where the steering wheel had been, milked her, told her to leave, and she walked knowingly out the back *Emergency* exit door. He then called the next cow by her number, and in she walked:) It was hilarious! I marveled that he'd trained them so well, and I no longer worried that the *girls* wouldn't be going home to a *proper* barn:)

Blessings,

Sherry