Sharing a Sunset With Rosie

On a recent afternoon as the sun was taking its repose in the western sky, I had an opportunity to catch Rosie, one of our Jersey cows, at the water trough and interview her about her life, her goals, her struggles and dreams. She was in a talkative mood on this fine afternoon and in a very transparent manner, she candidly shared things that up to this point had remained private.  Although she wouldn't let me record the conversation, as soon as the interview was over, I sat down and wrote everything down so that I could share it with you.

Me: Good Afternoon, Rosie.  Hey, I gotta tell you, that is a cool trick you do, using your tongue to lick all the way up into each of your nostrils.
Rosie: Good afternoon.  Thanks for the compliment.  I am a girl of various and sundry skills.
Me: Pardon me for disturbing you.  I know that your time by the water trough is 'sacred time.'   I just wanted to have a talk with you so we could all get to know you a little better.

Rosie: That's fine.  I have a few minutes to spare before I go stand around the hay ring.  What do you want to know?

Me: Well, for starters, how old are you?
Rosie:  You see, that is impolite. You aren't supposed to ask a lady her age.  Since I like you, I'll tell you, though.  I was born in February 2009.  That makes me almost seven years old.
Me: So that makes you 38 in human years.
Rosie: Huh?
Me: Veterinarians have a table that you can go to in order to convert your cow years into human years.  Click on this link: Convert your cow's age to human age.  The odd thing is, there is no real formula since the curve is not a linear curve compared to human age.
Rosie: Darn you!  38 doesn't sound as young as 7.  I like 7.

Me: How many calves have you had?
Rosie: Well, I've had Maggie, next I had a still born bull calf, then Amy, and now Clarabelle.  Sadly, you and Tricia sold Maggie to a farmer down the road for a nurse cow for his calves.  Even though she's about 2 miles away, I never have seen her since she left.  My still born bull calf is buried in the garden.  On the bright side, Amy and Clarabelle are still here on Our Maker's Acres Family Farm and Amy has given me a grandson, Chuck.

Me: What are some of your favorite things to do, Rosie?
Rosie: I'm a simple girl.  I just like to eat grass, specifically the tender first grass of Spring.  Hay will do in a pinch.  Sometimes I just like to sit down and chew my cud. And nap.  I like to take naps.  I really like it when Tricia comes and sits by me and rubs my neck.  How come you don't do that?

Me: Ummm... I don't know.  I'll try to do it more often.  Are you ready for spring weather?
Rosie: Well, actually I like any weather, except for summer here in South Louisiana.  Cows' ideal temperature range is between 25 - 65 degrees Fahrenheit.  If you think about it, the cold weather doesn't really affect me much since I have a leather coat on and a fermentation vat in my stomach generating heat.  I'll tell you what I don't like is all this rain!

Me: I understand, Rosie.
Rosie: No, I don't think you do, boss.  You get to take your muddy rubber boots off at the back door. My 'muddy boots' stay on me 24/7!

Me: Does that cause problems?
Rosie: Yes, thanks for asking.  If I'm constantly standing in muddy conditions, I catch the cow equivalent to Athlete's Foot - hoof rot.  It hurts and it is smelly and I appreciate the way Tricia doctors on me with iodine to clear it up.

Me: Tell me more about your ancestry, Rosie.
Rosie: Well, I haven't done a family tree, but I am a registered Jersey.  I've been told that we were brought to the United States in the 1850's from Britain's Isle of Jersey, hence the name.

Me: So who's your Momma?
Rosie: Well, Momma's passed on.  She's buried on the west side of the pasture, beneath the shade of a water oak tree.  Her name was Buttercup, but ya'll always just called her Momma Cow.  Momma came from Pennsylvania, up in the Amish Country.  I've heard the people ya'll bought her from drove up to Pennsylvania and brought her down here.

Me: Do you mind getting milked?  Does it hurt?
Rosie: Look, I'm a "milk" cow.  It's what I do.  I don't mind.  Actually, you are more gentle milking me than my calf was.  She'd bang on my bag with her head to make more milk drop.  Her sharp teeth would sometimes cut my teats and they'd get chapped and raw.  I don't mind ya'll milking me at all. In fact, I am very thankful that I'm a milk cow and not a beef cow.  I give you a contribution. Beef cattle are "fully committed," if you get my drift.

Me: How much do you weigh, Rosie?
Rosie: Well, I declare, son.  That is a rude thing to ask a lady!
Me: I'm sorry, Rosie, for the benefit of the readers, I thought they'd like to see how svelte you are.
Rosie: Well, if you say it like that, Darlin', I currently weigh about 900 pounds. I've lost some of the 'baby fat' I was carrying when I had Clarabelle.

Me: Hey, speaking of Clarabelle, she's not nursing any more since Tricia and I are weaning her and are now milking you twice a day.
Rosie: Yeah, but that's something I need to talk to you about.  The other two calves, Luna & Chuck, have been coming and stealing my milk once they finish nursing off of Daisy and Amy.
Me: I know.  We're having to separate them from you so they won't get OUR milk. We should have that problem rectified.

Me: Anything else you want to tell us?
Rosie: Well, yeah, I gotta brag a little.  Most milk in the US is produced by Holsteins.  I have to give them credit.  They make a lot of volume.  However, we (Jerseys), make the BEST milk.  Our milk has more calcium, more butterfat, more protein AND tastes the smoothest.
Me: Bragger!
Rosie: Oh no, child.  Them's facts.

Me: Any final thoughts?  I gotta get inside for supper.
Rosie: Yeah, have I shown you pictures of my baby, Clarabelle?  She's real pretty. Let me get out my wallet.

Rosie's little girl, Clarabelle

Me: She is pretty.  You must be proud.
Rosie: I am.  Now, if that's all you've got, I gotta go.  I have a lot of hay to eat and cud to chew.
Me: Good night, Rosie.
Rosie: Good night, Kyle.  And uh, Kyle, remember Eat Mor Chikn!