How to Milk a Cow

Something unusual happens as Tess tries to milk a cow.


1. How to Milk a Cow

            “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” said the cow angrily. Tess woke with a start.


            Tess cursed. Her uncle had told her to wake up at 7:00 am to milk the cow. It was now 10:30 am. She pulled on sweat pants, shoved her feet into her worn sneakers, and raced out the door as she put on her jacket. And then she remembered.

            She had absolutely no idea how to milk a cow.

            She stood in the barn staring at the cow’s udders. Didn’t most people just use machines these days? She would look up how to milk a cow on the Internet, but her uncle didn’t have a computer, and her phone wasn’t a smart phone. It was a dumb phone.

            Tess walked towards the sink at the far end of the barn. She actually was not sure why she was doing this. Her legs seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Tess watched as she picked up a bucket on the left side of the sink and filled it with soap, and then warm water.

            She walked over to the cow and washed the udders. “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


            “I know, I know,” Tess told the cow. “Just wait a second,” she said calmly. The cow grunted.            If Tess didn’t know any better she would have thought the cow had understood what she said. Then again, some magical force that was showing her how to milk a cow was controlling her.

Tess put the bucket down and tied the cow to a post with a rope already around its neck. She picked up a little wooden stool and put it next to the cow.

She dried the cow’s udders and walked to a tub of Vaseline on a bench. She put some on her hands.

She sat carefully on the little stool with a new bucket in her hands. She felt strangely calm for someone who was possessed.

She began to milk the cow. Tess struggled to make a look of disgust appear on her face, but the muscles of her face decided it was a good idea to smile.

She took note of what she was doing so she could remember how to milk a cow later.

She finished. She picked up the bucket, and carefully strained the milk. She walked to the kitchen in her uncle’s farmhouse and put a big pot on the stove. She poured the milk in, and stirred it gently. She put in a little thermometer and waited for it to reach 145 degrees. She cooked it at 145 degrees for thirty minutes. She picked up a milk bottle and filled two to the brim exactly and placed it in the fridge.

She was suddenly exhausted, and with full control of her limbs.

She heard the putter, putter of her uncle’s truck as he pulled into the driveway. “Groceries!” he called. Tess helped him unload. “Did you milk the cow like I asked?” he questioned.

Tess nodded. “And I strained, pasteurized it, and put it in the fridge.”

Her uncle looked impressed. “Where did you learn to do all that?”

Tess shrugged. She didn’t know either.

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