Sunday Stanza: The Milk Cows That Raised Me

I grew up where the sagebrush bends,
Where chores began before day’s end.
Two Guernsey cows, my morning call—
Mahana and Mokey, Guernseys all.

First came Mahana, hooves hittin’ the ground,
Then Mokey slipped out without makin’ a sound.
Two heifers—pure luck on that spring calvin’ night,
Dodgin’ the curse of a Freemartin’s bite.

The barn was wood—no varnish, no gleam,
Just planks held fast with weathered beam.
The milk pails rang like a supper bell,
And that old place knew how to smell—

Of sweat and stock and fresh-cut hay,
Of boots that stomped at break of day.
We didn’t need a hardwood barn floor—
Just dirt, dried dung, and not much more.

My brother and I split the daily load,
Each milking shift our own shared code.
Mahana was mine come morning’s light,
While she was Dan’s when it turned night.

In the evening, Mokey would be mine, I recall,
Bound by teat and the milking call.
Steam rose like ghosts through the cedar and pine,
As her tail swayed slow in the evening shine.

Mahana stood with quiet pride,
Like she’d taken an oath she’d never lied.
Gentle eyes, a patient grace—
She let me work at my own pace.

But Mokey? She had no chill—
A bovine rodeo, bent on will.
She’d snort and twitch and swat and fling,
Her tail could whip like a fencing string.

I tied it once… or tried, I guess—
But Mokey had a gift for mess.
She’d fake a yawn, then pitch a fit,
And land a hoof where I sit.

She kept one eye locked on my shin,
A dairy cow with a devilish grin.
She’d tip the pail just for the thrill,
And test my faith and balance skill.

That old coral held a quiet kind of spell,
The sort no city soul could tell.
Their breath like fog in morning light,
Their warmth against the edge of night.

I’d talk to them of school and dreams,
Of basketball and cowboy schemes.
And though they chewed like they were bored,
I swear those cows just stored my words.

No ribbons hung, no grand parade—
Just honest milk, and lessons made.
Mahana taught me calm and grace,
Mokey? How to dodge in place.

And years have passed since those days flew,
But every single word of this is true:
Those cows helped raise me, hoof, and hide—
With patient love… and a wild ride.

DocBott