“My grandfather kept a small herd of cows and a feisty bull which served the neighbor’s cows, but we were never sure, as children, just what went on because we were sent to the house when a restless cow was brought into the barnyard.

We asked Grandpa to teach us to milk, but he refused, saying the cows would give down their milk only for him, as they knew his touch.  On the few Occasions when Grandpa was sick and a neighbor or our Uncle Martin did the milking, we found Grandpa was partly right.  The cows did give some milk, but not as much as with Grandpa.  They were definitely partial to his touch.  Once a cow who didn’t like a stranger on the stool kicked over the milk pail and this did not please Grandma who depended on the cream for her buttermaking.  But Grandpa was never sick for long and soon the milk flow was back to normal.

We girls still wanted to try milking a cow.  Uncle Martin said he had a cow he’d let us milk.  So we went over to his farm, sat on the stool and tried to imitate Grandpa’s hand movements. We must have done it correctly as we soon had a half a pail of milk.  We were very proud of ourselves until Uncle Martin deflated us by saying, ‘Any fool can milk that cow.  She ain’t particular like your grandfather’s.’”