142 THE COW 



the dairy herd. The daily yield of cream consti- 

 tutes the means by which we live, so I have in mind 

 to set down very briefly my philosophy, my stead- 

 fast faith, concerning the business of cow-keeping. 



Let it be said first that dairying is surely no 

 sluggard's job. In all the devious ways by land 

 or sea, in shop or mart or roaring city canyon by 

 which men gain a livelihood, there is none other 

 occupation so insistent, so exacting in its demands. 

 Like Tennyson's brook, it goes on forever. There 

 is something almost appalling or pitiful in its 

 unending routine. I remember how my good father, 

 noting this fact, used to quote, half humorously, 

 half seriously, the phrase of Solomon the Wise, 

 "For there is no discharge in this war." It is 

 almost as regular and unchanging as the Proces- 

 sion of the Equinoxes. Come what may, though 

 the heavens fall, the cow demands her usual atten- 

 tion. The day that the master of the farm dies, 

 she must be fed and milked. On the great day 

 when the daughter of the home is given in mar- 

 riage, there can be no deviation. The fruit-grower 

 or the crop farmer may labor hard but on Saturday 

 night he may forget his task till Monday dawn. 

 There are many dairy farms where the irreducible 

 minimum of Sunday chores will constitute more 

 than the eight-hour day which union labor insists 

 leaves not enough time for rest and play. We 

 cherish a family tradition that for more than a 

 century there has never been a night when in our 



