Another excerpt from "Rubberboots."

You may recall in post I did awhile ago, it was mainly about Pottermore and my Financial Aid, that I talked about a certain incident that happened at the OSU dairy. I didn't say much about it because it was a really long story. But here is the full story. And my thoughts and feelings about what went down. It was kind of nice to get it out there, because I still feel a bit haunted by the experience.

So here it is.

***

The Day I cried over Spilled Milk.

      To me, obviously this person who ever invented that phrase has never had any farming experience. I know, I know, this person was referring to one little glass that might get inadvertently knocked over on the table; never did they ever think of having to dump a whole tank down the drain.

      To me, that is definitely something to cry about.

      Looking back on this weekend I have to laugh, because I remember thinking that it was going to be a really good one. Yeah, so much for my intuition, huh?

It was early Saturday morning on July 23, the usual, about 3:40 AM. I was the first to arrive, again, as usual. It was very quiet and warm. The kind of warm, that if you were to lie down in the grass or on a lounge chair, you would fall asleep in no time.

I walked into the lab and clocked in. Recently, working with the calves had become a bit of a challenge. We had had a lot of bull calves in the recent weeks and they were becoming a burden to care for. We also had a large number of weaned calves to care for as well, and the job wasn’t so much fun anymore. But this morning, I looked at the calf logs and saw that we were down a huge number. That made me happy, and that was the reason I thought it was going to be a good weekend. That one little thing. But my feelings of the weekend couldn’t have been more wrong.

      After turning on the separator and the pump I made my way to the parlor to begin set up; noticing that my partner still had yet to arrive. I gave her a polite call, and was directed to her voicemail. I wasn’t surprised, I had worked by myself several times already, and one of them the person’s cellphone was off.

      I was just bummed that the speakers weren’t working, because one of the times I had to work alone, I played Journey and Van Halen all morning. It was kind of nice actually. But today, I had no music, and also had to be back on the farm that afternoon. So, it was really going to be a long morning. I had already decided that I wasn’t going to do calf pens that morning if she didn’t show up soon.

      I called her again when I had finished setting up and was going to bring in the first run of cows. Still no luck.

      ‘OK,’ I was thinking, ‘Let’s just do this then. It’s going to be a long morning.’

      Of course once I was just finishing up with the Second Alley, my friend M shows up. She has this way of calling out my name that makes me jump. I don’t know why it happens that way. She just scares me when she calls out my name. We both laughed when I jumped and she asked if I was by myself. I gestured around me and said, “Yeah, kinda obvious.”

So she then helped me finish off the morning. My milking partner came just as we were about to milk the sick cows. I had just taken a much needed bathroom break when she launched herself into me.

“Oh…my…gosh!” every word was punctuated with agonizing clarity. “I…am…so…sorry!” and then the list of excuses started raining down. Just as I expected, they were the same clichéd excuses heard from the beginning of time.

“I don’t know what happened! My phone must have died, that’s why I didn’t hear your calls or hear my alarm.

“I don’t understand, I had another alarm, I don’t know why it didn’t work.

“I’m so sorry.”

I told her over and over again it was fine, that people sleep in, it happens. But she wouldn’t drop it. I know, I probably sound unreasonable. But looking back on that weekend I can’t help but feel angry.

I told her, we were going to finish milking the sick cows, feed the calves and then shove off for the day and leave the pens for Sunday.

It wasn’t until ten that we left and I had been there almost seven hours, with another evening shift to go that day, and then the whole day Sunday.

As I drove off I thought for sure we had our bad day and that the rest of the weekend would go smoothly. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

That evening was one of the worst milkings with the cows that I had ever had. Normally I work outside but with my partner, she was new, and slow. Glacially slow. When working with someone you know and has been there awhile, it’s very easy to get done between 6:30-7. But with this girl it was never before 7:30. 

It was hot! I had the fan on full blast, but the flies and the humidity made everyone just angry. Normally I will have a Jersey kick off the milker maybe 5 times on a bad milking. This night, I had milkers getting kicked off multiple times by at least 5 cows in a run of 14.  Everytime.  I thought for sure it would get better with the Holsteins, they kicked just as bad.

The number one rule I have with myself when working with animals, especially ones that are not the brightest in the world, is that they don’t speak English. When you scream and shout, they don’t understand what you’re saying, it’s not going to make things better. And I never, ever hit. The screaming thing, not so much. When trying to get them off that ridiculous scale, sometimes a good bellow keeps me from face-palming myself onto a metal gate.

Hitting doesn’t do anything but injure you. And that’s what I did. In a previous milking I had lost my temper once and paid the price. For me, the cow had kicked the machine off one times too many. And I lost it. I lifted my hand up and smacked her twice on the rump and on that second time I felt a scrunching in my right shoulder. I must of pulled a muscle or something, but I still have yet to gain full flexibility in it. 

 

Well I lost my temper again and up my arm went and down it came, this time on an obstinate Holstein named Molly whose game is to kick off the machine. I had no patience for her tonight and out again went my shoulder. I bit my tongue to keep the flow of curses I had in my head from sailing into the air.  Deep breaths can be really helpful in those situations.

Well it was onto the Fourth Alley, almost done! And I was running from one end of the milking pit to the other, when my bad ankle twisted on the rubber mats on the floor. I had a bad accident a week before my high school graduation and severely twisted my right ankle, it, unlike my shoulder is all too flexible and can collapse under me anytime it wishes. And again, unlike my shoulder, twisting my ankle is a pain I can’t compare it to. It sends spots into my vision and I can’t breathe right for about 30 seconds. Then the pain begins to fade and my ankle is only sore for a few hours afterwards. But saints alive! It hurts!

So, if we’re keeping score, that’s heat, ankle, shoulder, bad behavior, and sweat, that has made this one of my worst milkings ever. We finally finished just before 8 and I was exhausted. All I wanted was dinner, some bad Netflix, and sleep. Again, as I drove out the driveway, I thought, things couldn’t possibly get worse tomorrow. I also thought, this time tomorrow night, I’m going home. That thought brought a smile to my face, probably the only one I made all weekend.

Sunday morning rolled around and this time the milking went nice. It was cool outside and a breeze had been going all morning. And it actually went well… so I thought. My partner and I had just finished bedding the calves; it was about 9 in the morning when M walked out of the parlor.

“Uh guys, I think you just milked a sick cow in with the tank.”

What? At that moment my phone rang, I wasn’t surprised to see it was my boss.

“Well the computer says you milked a cow with the fourth alley.” All the time my mind was wheeling.

How did this happen? The math was right…I didn’t see any footbands. How did this happen? The math was right, I’m sure there was the right number of cows this morning…

The next hour my phone was hot-potatoed from me, to M, to my partner, it spent most of the time with my partner, as she was the one who mixed up the cows.

When I had it I stammered to my boss that I had no idea why a cow with footbands would sneak past me. And when we removed her from the alley I saw her.

I didn’t have the phone so I caught M’s attention, who at that time, was talking to him.

“She doesn’t have any footbands!” and I gesture around my wrist my left hand circling my right wrist. “No footbands!” I say again, she looked and then relayed the message to him. I’m sure to this day I would have been fired if she had them, but then again, I’m sure I wouldn’t have missed it.

I wasn’t surprised that the offending cow was a Jersey, I was sure she slipped under the bars and into the Fourth Alley, could have been at anytime. But what I still puzzled about is how a Holstein got into the sick alley, she was definitely too big for slipping under. I came to the conclusion that my milking partner probably moved her over when she counted them, thinking she was a sick cow.

I talked to my boss on the phone, “So are we going to test the milk?” it felt like my question landed on deaf ears,

“Lydia I need you to dump the milk. And come to a meeting tomorrow morning at nine.” The whole time I was feeling pretty calm. I know freaking out doesn’t help, but that was when I could feel the color drain from my face. And what’s sad, is that it wasn’t the meeting and the question that I might get fired, it was that I was going to have to stay, and that I wasn’t going to get home that night; and that I was going to have to tell my parents.

“OK.” I breathed out shakily.

So we walked over to the parlor and went to the tank. I still didn’t understand why we didn’t test it, it was only one milking…but it wasn’t my decision.

I bent down to the mouth of the tank and opened it. It took twenty minutes for it to drain. The whole time I saw the pure white milk drain, I felt my heart sink with it. Growing up on the dairy, I had seen times when the milked had to be dumped and the affect it had on the people around me. This wasn’t good. Plain and simple.

What a waste.

It wasn’t until noon that we were done, after rinsing out everything and cleaning. I didn’t leave right away. I stayed and talked to M and we made plans to meet at her house that night. She had given me a granola bar and I sat down and tried to eat it. It didn’t go down easily, but I was hungry. I then called my boss.

I’m not going to cry. I told myself. I’m going to be strong, the phone rung in my ear. I’m not going to cry.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Lydia, just letting you know that everything is clean and finished up.” My voice begins to crack, no! “And,” my breath hitches in my throat. “That,” here it goes. “I’m so sorry.” I bawl it out. Sobbing into the phone.

“I know you are Lydia. These things happen.”

I regain some control, “It’s just that,” I sniffle, “I know how hard it is to dump milk, and I’ve had an awful weekend.”

“Well, when it rains it pours.” he said. Then I hung up. Feeling no better.

I came back to the apartment and relay the story to my sister and my mom, tearfully over the phone. Both told me it wasn’t my fault, this happens, milk gets dumped sometimes. It happens. But I could not shake the awful feeling of Monday.   

Milking that night was uneventful, she was scared to work outside this time, so I did and we didn’t get done until 8, and we double checked every number in the Fourth Alley, and took roll call in the sick pen to make sure everyone was counted for. Thankfully, they were.

I met at M’s that night and we had a whole gossip, beer, Dexter party. Actually, really Dexter only played in the background, we didn’t watch it. We spent too much time talking. I did feel better, but not about the future of my job. I was so paranoid that I was beginning to make a speech in case he was going to fire me. Because I truly felt that it wasn’t my fault. Especially since she had no footbands.

The next morning I packed my clothes, wondering how my story was going to be to my parents. Was it going to have a happy ending? Or was I going to tell them I might have to quit school because I no longer have any income. I know, quitting school? But I am a worst-case scenario person.

I put on one of my favorite t-shirts, a shirt from Threadless, it’s called “Retold with Unicorns.” A funny shirt, I felt better with it on.

At 8:30am I left for the dairy. I really can’t put into words how I felt as I drove over. Scared? Maybe. Sad? Definitely. Angry? Some.

As always, I arrived early. I can’t even really remember what I did before the meeting happened. I think my thoughts were whirling about in mind too fast to process them correctly. All I know was that I was a jumble of nerves.

      When the meeting happened I walked up the steps to the office with a dread. My feet felt heavy, and my spirit defeated. I don’t know what it is about this place, that when you make a mistake; you feel like you just committed some sort of crime. And when walking into the office for a talk about it, is like a sentencing on your life. I’ve made plenty of mistakes growing up, academically, and personally, but never, have I ever felt this bad before. Normally I can get up, and shake it off, ready for the next challenge. But it’s safe to say that this one messed me up for a long time.

I sat down heavily on the chair in the office and stared at all the cool “Got Milk” ads. Thinking that maybe one day I could be in one of them. That would be cool. That little thought cheered me up.

      “OK girls,” my boss starts. “Tell me what happened so that we can fix this.”

      In my mind I snort. There was nothing that I could tell him that I hadn’t already told him. I don’t know how that cow got in the Fourth Alley, and I don’t know why she didn’t have any footbands on.

“Well all I can say,” I start, “is that somehow that cow must have slipped under the bars into the other alley. The previous night was insane and things must have just gotten confused.”

      That was really all I could tell him and had already told him. I believe he wanted some sort of magical answer or a confession. But I really have no idea how those cows got mixed up, except that my partner did something. But I wasn’t out there, that was her story to tell.

He looks at her,

“All I can say,” she starts, “Is that I must have mixed them up somehow. And I want to say that it wasn’t Lydia’s fault.”

Damn straight. I think. I was to the point thinking that I was owed something. All weekend I had been crapped on and I was ready to fight for myself. Wasn’t necessary though.

“Lydia,” he looks at me, “I just don’t know how those footbands weren’t on that cow. I know I put them on her, they must have fallen off. Can you stay till 10?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can go.”

“Really?” my brain was confused. This is it? “OK.”

“Yes, please leave us for a few minutes.”

I look down on my partner and place a hand on her shoulder. I wanted to give her some comfort. Because in all of this, she must be just as scared as I am. So I leave the office.

M was there waiting, wanting to know all the details. As we were discussing what went down, my partner comes flying into the lab, sobbing. Oh dear.

Tearfully she filled out her timecard, and I wanted to comfort her somehow. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I’m a person who thinks that if you don’t know what to say, don’t say anything. But I just couldn’t in this case. Survivor’s guilt I think.

“Do you want a hug?” I ask her.

“NO!”

“I’m sorry about this.” M tells her, and then my partner takes off out of the driveway spinning tires and flinging gravel.

“Lydia,” I hear my boss call me. “Could you come up here for a second?” I look at M and we share a look. This might be my turn at the guillotine, who knows?

I walk up the stairs.

“I just wanted to tell you…” and he went on about something about being able to care for the animals and making mistakes, and that’s why she as fired. Honestly I can tell you I didn’t hear a word. I was paying attention, but I was so worried I was getting fired that I didn’t hear it.

“So is that clear?”

I just nod.

“OK then, see you at 10.” I look at my watch. It was only 9.30. This only took half an hour? It felt like years had gone by.

Since I had half an hour until the meeting, I decided to call my mom and tell her that everything was OK and that I would give her the full details of what happened when I would get home. I was just so relieved. I had kept my job. Thank goodness!

M and I went to her place and watched some Netflix and talked about the weekend. I was just so glad it was over and never wanted anything like that to happen again. From then on, I kept lists of the sick cows and would check every Fourth Alley cow to make sure she wasn’t a treated cow.

I think I might have annoyed my milking partners, but I was soooo paranoid. I would go home Sunday night with my phone and get into bed completely convinced I was going to get a call that something went wrong the previous milking. The next weekend I went to bed after the Saturday morning milking with my phone clutched in my hands certain I would get another call. It was like that for the rest of the summer. I eased up a little, but I was sure I made a mistake even though I had double-checked everything. It wasn’t a very nice summer work wise.

But I had survived. And I learned. And I also had shorter milking shifts since I was working with more experienced people. I’m sure that I will have more problems and learning situations in work. And I just hope that I handle them better. I feel like that I had a mental melt down with my self-confidence. And I don’t want to feel that way ever again. 

So that's the story in as much detail as I can remember. It was a truly awful weekend. But hey, those make the best stories right? LOL