A Letter from our Cows

Dear Humans,

Welcome to the first annual Milk Summit that we, the Jersey Cows at Our Maker's Acres Family Farm have convened.  Pull up a milk stool and get comfortable. The purpose of this letter is to provide some much needed communication to humankind. There are misconceptions that many have about cows and we'd like to clear that up. But mostly, we'd like to convey some information to the humans that we look after here on the farm.  Please bear with us and forgive any misspelled words or disjointed thoughts.  Since our large hooves don't lend themselves to typing on the computer, we're having to dictate this letter to one of the two-legged people who look after us, so place any blame on grammar or style squarely on his shoulders.  I don't think the old boy's too bright.  We think he's two or three handfuls short of a bale, if you get what we're trying to say.

First off, we are registered Jerseys.  We're quite proud of our heritage and reputation as being milk cows with the highest percentage of butterfat.  Our milk is rich and creamy.  While we don't give quite the volume as a Holstein does, the quality of our milk is better. Sorry, I know it sounds boastful, but if you are going to make a choice between quality or quantity, when it comes to milk, you should choose Quality every time.

Secondly, although you might think that we like you, we don't.  We're ambivalent. In fact, we don't like much of anything but to eat, drink, nap, and poop.  We like the green grass and fresh water that you give us and when you see us standing with our heads up looking at you like in the photo below, that means that it is time to move us to the next paddock. We've eaten all the grass in that paddock and we want to be moved. Now.  Chop Chop.

More grass, please

While we're talking, we are punctual and have a rigorous timetable.  We like having a schedule - a routine. We don't like the way that you milk us every weekday morning at 5:30 sharp, but on the weekends, you sleep in and don't get out to the barn until 7:30.  Get with it, folks.  That is why we position ourselves close to the fence near your bedroom window on the weekends and bellow loudly.  Being an alarm clock is not really in our job description, but we'll do it to get you out here and milk us, you lazy sluggards!

As long as we're airing grievances, we have another pet peeve that we'd like to get addressed.  Where's the Beef?  Well, it has been seen and smelled coming from your backyard barbecues lately and we're disgusted. Two of us will stare you down, but as for me (Daisy), I can't even look at you, I'm so ashamed of you.  The smell of beef being barbecued in the backyard is so offensive to us. Like the Holstein cows in the Chik-fil-A advertisements, we'd like you to consider chicken or even pork, instead of beef from this point forward.  Oh, the humanity!

Don't make me come over that fence.

Lots of you humans mistakenly refer to all of us as cows, but in actuality, we are all cattle, but only female cattle are cows, if you want to be grammatically correct.  It is an important distinction, to us at least.  Cows are females who have had a calf.  Bulls are adult males.  A steer is a castrated male (ouch) and a heifer is a young female that has not had a calf yet.  Although we're females, we would assume calling a bull a cow would be most embarrassing to the old boy.  But probably the problem with this confusion is because in English, the word, cattle, only refers to the plural - not singular.  There is no singular word for cattle, so most people just call all the herd 'cows.'

Let's talk hygiene and manners for a minute.  We notice that you seem to be outdone with us when we come into the barn at milking time and you see that we laid down in some poop or pee overnight.  We're just not that concerned about it.  You try lugging 850 - 1000 pounds around all day.  At nighttime, we look for the first place to sit down and if that happens to be in some poop, well, we know you'll clean us up. Not a problem.

Speaking of problems, let's address the chickens and the goats.  Okay, we're the queens of the pasture. We were here first.  When we use our heads to sweep a squawking chicken out of our feed trough, we're simply asserting our rightful position in the barnyard hierarchy.  Same thing can be said when we headbutt the goats into the side of the barn. But back to the feed trough, you're being a bit skimpy on the alfalfa.  What gives?

President Reagan once said, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"  It was a forceful and strong directive that gave freedom to those held captive behind a man made barrier.  With respect to Mr. Reagan, we echo his sentiments and ask you to tear down the fence that separates the garden from the pasture.  It is our wish that you immediately do so as we consider it cruel and unusual punishment for you to grow lush, succulent vegetables right there within eyesight and not allow us freedom to partake of it.

All we're asking for is a little common decency.  We hope that this dialogue has been constructive and educational for you and will assist in facilitating change in the barnyard.  If our grievances are met promptly, we will forget about all these transgressions and your sins will be remembered no more.  If, however, these talks fail, well, we can't promise that you won't get swished in the face by a dew (or pee)-soaked tail.

Sincerely,

Your cows

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