While my Daddy was milking the cows, I had to feed their baby calves.

When baby calves were a week old, they were taken from their mothers and put into a big room in the barn.  The reason for this is, if baby calves continue to drink from their mothers, the mothers would not have enough milk left for Daddy to get into the pail.

Daddy needed all the milk he could get from the cows because he sold it to the milkman who took it to the dairy in the city.   The dairy pasteurized the milk, to kill all the germs, and sold it to the grocery store for city people to buy.

We had to have a very clean barn and milk house in order to sell "Grade A" milk, which we got paid more for.   We drank the milk raw, or "straight from the cow" and cooled in the refrigerator.   One time I asked Momma why we didn't have pasteurized milk and she said, because we were use to the raw milk and the germs didn't bother us.

Every month, Daddy got a "milk check" from the dairy people.   He gave it to Momma to put in the bank.  We used that money to buy our clothes and any food that we needed.   Our cows were very important to us.

One day I complained about the smell around the farm.   My Daddy took in a big breath and smelled the air.

"That smell Little One," he said with a smile on his face, "is the smell of money.   That smell is what keeps a roof over your head and will one day send you to college.   That smell is what keeps this farm running."

I didn't quite understand, but after that speech from my Daddy, the cows didn't smell so bad after all!

Since the baby calves couldn't drink from their mothers, they drank powdered milk.   I had to get two metals pails from the milk house and fill them with warm water.   Then I took two large scoops of dry milk from a big can and mixed it in the water.  

Each pail had two large black nipples on the sides of the pail, near the bottom.   The nipples were like what is on a baby's bottle, but much bigger.  

I was able to feed four baby calves at a time by bracing the two pails against my legs.   The trouble was, we had eight calves so all of them couldn't suck the milk at the same time.

When I'd open the door to the calf pen, the calves would all come running toward me.   The calves that got to the pails first were happily sucking away in no time.   The others were trying to get to the pails, stepping on my feet, and sucking at my jeans.

I'd say, "just wait your turn, please," but I guess they didn't understand English, because they just kept on butting my legs with their heads and stepping on my feet.

When the pails were empty, I had to mix up another batch, go back into the calf pen and try and remember which calves already had their milk so I could feed the ones that hadn't eaten yet.

This was not an easy task, as ALL the baby calves were varying designs of black and white and it was hard to tell them apart.   Even the ones that had their tummies full, wanted more.

When I finally got the four who hadn't eaten up to the pails and sucking away, the other four still wanted more.  So now, they would take their turn at stepping on my feet and trying to suck on my jeans.

I don't know why they liked to suck on my jeans, but when I was done, I had calf spit all over me and bruises on my shins and feet.

What a messy chore!