Get Milk?

In the barn at the veterinary hospital we had two dairy goats, that were feeling a bit under the weather, staying with us for a few days.  I spent a good part of the day assisting the doctor with their treatments.  When we were finished I settled the dairy gals into the creme de la creme presidential suite stall complete with heat lamps, fluffy pine shavings, warm water, and a buffet of different types of hay to pick to graze on.  With the gals tucked in, I ran inside the office to try and catch up on all the office work that decided to wait for me throughout the day.  
It was a half hour until closing and my finish line was in sight.  Daylight savings time was in full affect and I was looking forward to getting back on the ranch and taking my horse, Autumn, on a sunset ride.  Would I ride out to the look out? or would I ride the fern trail?  or maybe..."Milk the goats before you leave." 
"What?"  
"The goats need to be milked before you leave." said the doctor.
"I don't know how to milk a goat."
"You'll figure it out."  With that said, he shut the door, got in his truck and pushed the pedal to the metal.  
Seriously?  I've seen the Ingalls do it on "Little House on the Prairie" and stuff but come on!  Me?  Milking?  The only way I know how to get milk is to pull it out of a refrigerator not by pulling on some animal's lady parts!  I was desperate.  I called the owners hoping they would offer to come milk them out.  I gave them an update on the progress of their goats and casually mentioned that I would have to figure out how to milk them.  The owners come from a long line of Portuguese dairymen.  I think these guys learned how to milk a cow before they learned how to walk.  Upon mentioning that I had to milk their goats they exploded with laughter.  "New York is going to have to milk the goats!"  I heard more laughter in the background.  They wished me luck and hung up.
Out to the barn I went.  I got a bucket, a stool to sit on, took all the precautions needed not to spread any bacteria from teat to teat and goat to goat and began my milking odyssey. 
First, I found a rope and tied my first scapegoat to the wall.  Her udder was full like a balloon ready to pop and she was ready for me to get that milk out of her.  I grabbed a hold of her teat and gave it a squeeze.  No dice.  I squeezed my whole fist tight, then I tried squeezing my fingers at different intervals.  I basically played chop sticks on her teat like she was a grand piano but we weren't making music tonight.  She looked at me like I was a first timer in the back seat of a car on prom night.  I was pathetic. 
It was around this time that my husband, after seeing my car in the parking after closing, stopped by.  His grin got bigger as I bitched out how bad I sucked at milking and how the doctor just left me with these poor engorged goats.  After taking a few pictures on his cell phone he wished me luck and said he would leave a light on.

What's got your goat? 
A primeval goat milking ex-New York girl that's who!

As I sat there next to my empty milk pail, I reflected on the times I watched baby goat kids nurse.  They bash their little heads into their mom's udder, latch on her teat and practically suck it off.  I wasn't going to do that but I decided to try and hand milk her in the same manner.  I grabbed the teat, pushed up and squeezed down. And then it happened!  Like a beam of sunlight gleaming through dark stormy rain clouds a heavenly limp stream of milk spurted out!  Hallelujah! 

I'm not crying over this spilled milk! 

I got my flow going and I got milk.  I was like Swiss Miss in there.  After an hour and a half, I had both of those girls on empty and a milk pail full of pride.  Pride was not the only thing I acquired that night.  I think I may be facing assault charges and possibly a restraining order by the goats.  It's all in a day's work. 

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