Saturday, May 25
Well....
Was woken Thursday morning by the herdsman's wife, who said he'd called from the parlor to say he wasn't feeling well, and could I please come milk? When I got up there she was putting milkers on.
'Is it his allergies?' I said. The herdsman is allergic to about half of creation.
'I don't know,' she said.
So I milked- which took a while, by myself- and fed calves, and did a pasture walk, as the weather was bearable for the first time in a week, and went back, and piddled around entering the pasture data on the computer, and went out to fetch the cows for milking...
And thought 'That's funny, I don't remember a big rock there....'
And realized it wasn't a rock, it was a cow. And ran.
She wasn't yet dead, so I screamed for the vet. The one at the back of the field, however, was. I thought it was bloat, which was why I called the vet, and so did he when he first got there, but eventually it was decided that the bloat was an effect, not a cause, and that what she actually had was milk fever (calcium deficiency). We bottled her in the vein and she was able to sit up, albeit groggily.
Whew.
So the farmer and the vet went back to look at the dead one and I went up to milk. The cows had been standing, not very patiently, in the yard waiting for me. One of them was at the back moving jerkily and foaming at the mouth. So *she* had to be gotten in and bottled with magnesium for staggers, and of course she was a right sod about it- one of the most evilly vicious cows in the herd, naturally. She kept trying to butt the living hell out of me and the farmer, flinging her head around and snorting like we were deliberately doing the whole thing to annoy her. Maybe she thought we were. I don't know.
Another cow went down with staggers during milking (another sod, I might add; when we tried to put magnesium bullets- slow-release pills- down her throat she showed the most amazing ability to spit them out) and the cows were in a truly evil mood. We'd finally finished milking and I was starting the wash down when the farmer, who'd gone up to check a valve, came back.
'You know how we were saying there didn't seem to be enough cows tonight?' he said.
There were seven of them, and they'd somehow hopped the two gaps between them and the rest of the farm without knocking anything down or leaving any trace that they'd gone; they were round as barrels and smug. We ran the water out, stopped all the pumps, drained the system, broke down the milkers, milked the sods, and then had to do it all over again.
I went home, got myself a drink- which I felt I richly deserved- and sat down to enjoy it, but I only got halfway through. I woke up at eleven on the floor and had to peel my contacts off my eyeballs and crawl to bed.
Another case of staggers in the morning, plus poor 933 went down with it in the parlor and we nearly had her in the pit with us. She blocked off one side of the milking parlor and we had to milk off the other side only for about 3 groups. Also the weather was incredibly foul, and the herdsman was in the hospital, and the bastards got out three times. I finally got through milking, washed down, took the cows out, tried to make the irrigator run as the slurry pit was full (this is not a job you want to do in a high wind (and if you don't know what 'slurry' is a euphimism for, well, let's just say I needed a shower afterwards)), had to give up after half an hour of being on the wrong side of the wind because the pump, which is cheap, kept giving out. See? You, too, can pointlessly economize and have to spend half an hour of frustration and misery every time you want to do a simple job. Fed the calves, went back out to set up the next break for the cows, came back in and collapsed for about an hour before I had to go back out and milk again.
Nothing died during milking. Nothing even tried. I was happy about that.
Then I went down to the village because the herdsman's wife had invited me to dinner because- yay!- this was my last day of work. The herdsman was out of hospital, though still very groggy. We had a nice dinner and watched Harry Potter, which I quite liked in spite of- or perhaps because of- the herdsman's three small children giving me a running commentary. Alan Rickman was probably my favorite. He is such a cool quasi-bad guy. But the casting was really excellent all through, to be honest.
Got back at midnight; went to bed.
I woke up this morning with four realizations, in this order:
a) I didn't have to milk.
b) My two friends were coming today and I hadn't made the caravan habitable for humans yet or set up any of the stuff we're supposed to do yet.
c) I was leaving in two days and I hadn't gotten the revisions on my novel done that I swore I would do.
d0 I was leaving in two days and I hadn't packed so much as a pair of underwear.
Er. Panic?
Was woken Thursday morning by the herdsman's wife, who said he'd called from the parlor to say he wasn't feeling well, and could I please come milk? When I got up there she was putting milkers on.
'Is it his allergies?' I said. The herdsman is allergic to about half of creation.
'I don't know,' she said.
So I milked- which took a while, by myself- and fed calves, and did a pasture walk, as the weather was bearable for the first time in a week, and went back, and piddled around entering the pasture data on the computer, and went out to fetch the cows for milking...
And thought 'That's funny, I don't remember a big rock there....'
And realized it wasn't a rock, it was a cow. And ran.
She wasn't yet dead, so I screamed for the vet. The one at the back of the field, however, was. I thought it was bloat, which was why I called the vet, and so did he when he first got there, but eventually it was decided that the bloat was an effect, not a cause, and that what she actually had was milk fever (calcium deficiency). We bottled her in the vein and she was able to sit up, albeit groggily.
Whew.
So the farmer and the vet went back to look at the dead one and I went up to milk. The cows had been standing, not very patiently, in the yard waiting for me. One of them was at the back moving jerkily and foaming at the mouth. So *she* had to be gotten in and bottled with magnesium for staggers, and of course she was a right sod about it- one of the most evilly vicious cows in the herd, naturally. She kept trying to butt the living hell out of me and the farmer, flinging her head around and snorting like we were deliberately doing the whole thing to annoy her. Maybe she thought we were. I don't know.
Another cow went down with staggers during milking (another sod, I might add; when we tried to put magnesium bullets- slow-release pills- down her throat she showed the most amazing ability to spit them out) and the cows were in a truly evil mood. We'd finally finished milking and I was starting the wash down when the farmer, who'd gone up to check a valve, came back.
'You know how we were saying there didn't seem to be enough cows tonight?' he said.
There were seven of them, and they'd somehow hopped the two gaps between them and the rest of the farm without knocking anything down or leaving any trace that they'd gone; they were round as barrels and smug. We ran the water out, stopped all the pumps, drained the system, broke down the milkers, milked the sods, and then had to do it all over again.
I went home, got myself a drink- which I felt I richly deserved- and sat down to enjoy it, but I only got halfway through. I woke up at eleven on the floor and had to peel my contacts off my eyeballs and crawl to bed.
Another case of staggers in the morning, plus poor 933 went down with it in the parlor and we nearly had her in the pit with us. She blocked off one side of the milking parlor and we had to milk off the other side only for about 3 groups. Also the weather was incredibly foul, and the herdsman was in the hospital, and the bastards got out three times. I finally got through milking, washed down, took the cows out, tried to make the irrigator run as the slurry pit was full (this is not a job you want to do in a high wind (and if you don't know what 'slurry' is a euphimism for, well, let's just say I needed a shower afterwards)), had to give up after half an hour of being on the wrong side of the wind because the pump, which is cheap, kept giving out. See? You, too, can pointlessly economize and have to spend half an hour of frustration and misery every time you want to do a simple job. Fed the calves, went back out to set up the next break for the cows, came back in and collapsed for about an hour before I had to go back out and milk again.
Nothing died during milking. Nothing even tried. I was happy about that.
Then I went down to the village because the herdsman's wife had invited me to dinner because- yay!- this was my last day of work. The herdsman was out of hospital, though still very groggy. We had a nice dinner and watched Harry Potter, which I quite liked in spite of- or perhaps because of- the herdsman's three small children giving me a running commentary. Alan Rickman was probably my favorite. He is such a cool quasi-bad guy. But the casting was really excellent all through, to be honest.
Got back at midnight; went to bed.
I woke up this morning with four realizations, in this order:
a) I didn't have to milk.
b) My two friends were coming today and I hadn't made the caravan habitable for humans yet or set up any of the stuff we're supposed to do yet.
c) I was leaving in two days and I hadn't gotten the revisions on my novel done that I swore I would do.
d0 I was leaving in two days and I hadn't packed so much as a pair of underwear.
Er. Panic?
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