As children we had a myriad of pets. You name it, we had it. Cats by the score, dogs, lambs, pigs, meercats, sonkykers and even a porcupine for a short time. We also adopted horses and cows which roamed around the farm.
My big sister was wonderful at inventing things to do, and my middle sister and I were always happy to try out her suggestions. On one occasion she thought that we should all go to the cowshed and each select a cow to milk. We thought this was an excellent idea, and set off immediately running past the stables, the reservoir and the windmill and bursting into the warm cowshed with its special cow pat sort of smell.
We each grabbed a bucket and a milking stool, which my father had made by sawing up sturdy logs and attaching heavy wire handles to the tops. We walked up and down the two rows of cows who were contentedly chewing the cud, and made our selection. I was the last to find a cow which took my fancy and in doing so, proceeded to place my stool round the side, next to her back legs. Confidently sitting down, I clenched the bucket between my knees and reached forward for one of the four teats. It was then that I saw stars! I had chosen the most bad tempered and wildest of all the cows we had, and she didn't take kindly to having a mere novice mess around with her undercarriage! She lifted her leg and swiftly gave me a hoof right in the middle of my chest. I went flying across the cement floor!
That night at bath time, the hoof mark could be clearly seen and for many days thereafter. As for the old cow....I gave her a wide berth after that electrifying experience!
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