Milking goats
A la Italian former alcoholic
July 2023 in the mountains of Tuscany, Italy—
Good morning
It was 5:20 A.M. I held a large tin bucket. So did Farmer Giuseppe, former alcoholic. He set his bucket between a goat’s hind legs, took a teat in each hand, and squirted a couple streams of milk into the hay.
“For bacteria,” he said.
A little concerned
There is more than bacteria on a goat teat.
The teat of any farm animal is often bedazzled with flecks of poop, dirt, hair, etc. Most farmers wipe the teat with a damp cloth before milking.
Giuseppe was a revolutionary. He eliminated the initial step of cleaning the teats. He additionally eliminated the chore of mucking the goat pen, managing to accumulate many months of pee, poo, and spilled milk in just one hay bed.
I squatted with my bucket. Rot soaked my shoes. Sour scents burned my eyes. Flies coated my skin and mouth. In the far corner, Giuseppe milked and smoked a cigarette. Once in a while he would hold the cigarette between his teeth to cough. Then he would start smoking again.
The goats were probably all addicted to nicotine. I wouldn’t put it past them, either. To be elaborated upon in a later post titled “F*ck goats.”
How to: Milk a goat
Select the optimal goat. Medium-size udder (if too large, will take a long time to milk; if too small, will not produce much milk) and big, grippy, symmetric teats (or else half the udder will complete before the other, forcing you to milk with both hands to one teat).
Clean the teats. Allegedly optional.
Bump the udder with your hands. Because baby goats (called “kids”) head-butt their mothers’ udders before they feed.
Cup your hands, palms toward you, so your thumbs and index fingers hold the udder. The other fingers wrap around the teats.
Squeeze. The udder is your milk pouch. Milk is stored there in winding ducts. You must guide it down to the teats (your dispensers). Use a ripple motion with your fingers, squeezing from udder down to teats.
Frequency
2x.
In sickness and in health. Otherwise your 30 goats will explode.
Dress code
While you milk, the baby goats will be entertaining themselves. They will be running around stamping their little hooves in the pee/poo/milk sludge on the floor. Then they will come jump on your back.
Did you wear your boyfriend’s shirt because you’re alone and scared on a mountain with a former alcoholic, and you miss him? Go change.
The poop will not wash out.
Your boyfriend will not see the romance. He will just see poop.
If you have long hair
While the kids are taking turns bouncing off your back, their mothers will be eating your hair.
Bun it or lose it.
Other important tip
The muscles of your palms and wrists will tire. Your thighs will tire.
When you tire, instinct will have you rest your head on the nearest stable object.
Do not.
That object will be the goat’s ass.
Whatever is going on in your life, I assure you that accidentally putting your face on a goat’s ass is only going to make it worse.
Amid the rot, flies, and substance abuse…
The sun has not yet risen.
The summer morning is cold on the mountain.
The first streams of milk hit the metal bucket as clean and soprano as a blade against its sharpener—tsss, tsss, tsss. Gradually, milk starts to hit milk, and the sound grows muted, while remaining crisp. Sss, sss, sss.
Wherever milk hits milk, a soft layer of froth forms. The edges settle into bright white ambrosia. The milk is hot. Steam rises; inhale. It’s sweet.
A glow outside the barn window. Newborn day.
Do baptize with espresso.
Do not accept Giuseppe’s offer of “yes, it’s clean” raw goat milk.
what can i say but these continue to be the best unexpected gems in my inbox. riveted by the narrative of nicotine addicted goats. hoping (perhaps in vain) that you did not imbibe raw goat milk