1870. 



NEW ENGLAND FAEMER. 



309 



soil improved hy every repetition — until at 

 length, you will get the thirty bushels of wheat. 

 But we are impatient. We want to get the 

 thirty bushels in one year. We cannot wait. 

 But Providence is patient. "The mills of 

 the gods grind slow." We must wait. Gu- 

 ano at $60 a ton, and then transported a thou- 

 sand miles won't pay, and if it would pay one 

 year, it will leave the land in a worse condi- 

 tion than it found it. We must make the ma- 

 nure on the soil where it is to be used. We 

 can get labor, when we cannot get manure. 

 We must put as much labor on ten acres as 

 we now put on twenty, and we shall get more 

 wheat, and more corn, and improve the soil 

 instead of exhausting it. We must raise clo- 

 ver. 



For the New England Farmer, 

 KICKING COWS-MODES OF MILKING. 

 I have a young cow, one that was very hard 

 to manage when the had her first calf. She 

 was the most spiteful kicker that I ever at- 

 tempted to milk. The kick was not one of 

 the uncertain sort ; there was no room to 

 doubt of her intention to hit, and to hit hard. 

 Now I am not afraid of a kicking cow, but 

 confess to a dislike of that habit ; and I felt 

 in this case a strong desire to convince her of 

 the impropriety of her conduct, and to per- 

 suade her to a more quiet course. When all 

 gentle means failed, I tried tj ing up her fore 

 leg on the milking side, but she would lean 

 over and balance on two legs, and kick with 

 the third ; then drop on her knees and give 

 another vigorous kick, the instant a teat was 

 touched. Then her hind legs were tied to- 

 gether, and her nigh hind leg tied to a strong 

 staple driven into the floor behind her ; but 

 under both these modes of treatment she 

 would struggle an 1 kick furiously, so as to 

 make it quiie impoi-sible to milk her. At this 

 stage I remembtred that a neighbor had re- 

 commended, in extreme cases, the putting a 

 chain around the cow's body, just back of her 

 shoulders, and with a stick twist it so as to 

 bring the chain tight, but not tight enough to 

 hurt the cow so long as she remained quiet, 

 having a careful person to hold it in just that 

 condition. I tritd it and the plan worked to 

 a charm. She found she was hurting herself, 

 and the hurt was certain, and rather severe, 

 whenever she kicked ; and so, after a while, 

 she submitted, with only an occasional motion, 

 the beginning of a kick. It was only neces- 

 sary to use the chain once more, and the cure 

 was complete. Here is, I think, the reason, 

 of the efficacy of this method of treatment : 

 the cow has sense enough to perceive that she 

 Jiurts herself by kicking. If you beat her 

 with a stick, she sees that yoii hurt her, and 

 she kicks again in self defence or revenge. 



The same cow lately scratched one of her 

 teats, and in the same unpleasant way declared 

 her intention not to be milked. But two ap- 

 plications of the chain convinced her of the 

 error of her way, and she again became per- 

 fectly gentle. 



Apropos to the general subject of milking. 

 A few months ago, I read in some of the ag- 

 ricultural papers, a quotation from Professor 

 somebody, (the name is forgotten) which con- 

 tained remarks that seemed to me to indicate 

 that the author was a hobby-Tider, and one of 

 the fastest sort, too. I was half disposed to 

 bring his case before the "Society for the pre- 

 vention of cruelty," &c., and have him fined 

 for cruelly driving his hobby at a rate beyond 

 what it could bear. But as he apparently be- 

 longs to that Society, and was laboring in its 

 behalf, it was thought best to let him off this 

 time. The Professor had probably been vis- 

 iting in the country, and had seen some great, 

 coarse, cruel-minded, or at the least a thought- 

 less farmer milking a cow, — caught him in the 

 very act of milking in what is called the strip- 

 ing method ; that is, taking the teat between 

 the thumb and forefinger, and pressing it, and 

 at the same time bringing the thumb finger 

 down to the end, thus forcing out the milk. 

 This style of milking was severely condemned, 

 as cruel in the extreme. It was pronounced 

 dangerous, also, to thus roughly pull that 

 delicately formed organ, the cow's udder. 

 Now I have great respect for that humane 

 feeling which is pained by cruelty to any living 

 thing, be it of mankind or wormkind. 1 

 honor gentleness to the animals we make use 

 of, more than I do the strength and skill that 

 enable us to bring them under our control. 

 But I doubt whether the worthy Professor 

 ever milked a cow in his life. If he ever 

 milked many, he would have learned that a 

 cow whose milk flows moderately easy will 

 generally prefer the method of milking which 

 he condemns. This kind of milking partakes 

 of the nature of rubbing. Did he ever know 

 a cow that did not like to be rubbed.^ In 

 most cases rubbing the teats and udder will 

 soothe the animal, and make her quiet. For 

 the purpose of testing the Professor's opinion 

 of the exceeding delicacy and sensitiveness of 

 the cow's lacteal organs, I have recently many 

 times taken hold of the teats of different cows, 

 and pulled downward smartly, with a force 

 not less than that of a four-pound weight, 

 without the cow's showing the slightest sign 

 of being hurt. Yet this was a much harder 

 pull than would ever be given in milking. 

 And if tlie udder is so easily injured, why the 

 instinct of the calf to butt when sucking? 

 That butting is surely rougher treatment of 

 the udder than it receives when a man simply 

 forces the milk out by stripping. 



There are some young cows, too, whose 

 teats are so short and small that the milk can- 

 not be taken in the usual way of milking large- 

 teated cows. I aro now daily milking a cow, 



