Never Enough Cows

Never Enough Cows

         Old Donald had a cow barn with barely any milking cows in it. He had fifty fine-looking Holsteins, but that wasn't a drop in the milking bucket compared to the larger farmers in the surrounding area who had hundreds of Holsteins and Jerseys. It also didn't help that Donald's daughter Dorothy had been his helper until she married her husband David and moved to Davenport.
         Donald also had a condition with his hands known as Milker's Palsy. A condition where the grip of the milker is weak, and can't correctly milk the cow as fast as they used to be able. So, although Donald could once milk fifty cows easily under four hours, it was now taking him closer to six hours. This caused the Milking Wagon to make special accommodations to pick up his milk later in the day. During hot summer days, the heat may cause the milk to sour; in the freezing winter, the milk may freeze.
         He would try everything from starting earlier to milking his cows in smaller groups. Nothing seemed to help. Desperate, he decided to sell half of his herd at the auction barn the following week. In preparation, he said his goodbyes to each cow privately so the others wouldn't see them cry. An afterthought he had was that none of the cows cried. They just chewed their cud as usual. He was confident, though, it was a sad chewing.
         On the day of the auction, Donald went to the bank to advise Bill, the banker, of his plans to sell half his herd and that he would deposit the funds later in the day. He also told Bill the reason for selling his cows, lamenting the weakening of his hands and his sadness.
         Before selling his cows, Bill suggested seeing Doctor Debbie at the downtown clinic to assess the problem. There might be something she could recommend that was not as drastic as selling his cows, such as a prescription that would allow him to keep his milking cows.
         On his way to the doctor's office, he found someone selling his wares to a small crowd of onlookers on a street corner. Always curious, Donald stopped to listen to what he was selling that held everyone's attention.
         ". . . Yes, folks, this magic rub cures everything from a soar throat to severe headaches to rheumatoid arthritis to constipation to anything in between.'
         "What about colic?"
         "Spread it on the baby's head. If it doesn't work, it's not colic."
         "What about Smallpox?"
         "Spread on the spots four times a day; do whatever the doctor says; it'll be gone in no time."
         "What about Consumption?"
         "Given to spoonfuls rectally daily until better. If it doesn't work, you started too late."
         Donald chimed his question, "What about Milker's Palsy?"
         That's a great question, my friend; I'm glad you asked. This new Beet Cheat is specially formulated for working men and women in our great country. Scoop two fingers full of the magical ointment and rub it thoroughly into your hands. You will feel instant relief and return to your old working ways within the hour."
         "I'll take two, no four of those tubs of your salve, mister. Say, what is your name?"
         "My name is Salesman Jim."
         Donald hurried home to try his new salve out as it was about milking time, and the cows would return from grazing all day. Before opening the barn doors, he prepared the stalls and buckets and ensured plenty of feed for everyone. Right before the door opened, he put on a double dose of the Beet Cheat and let his ladies in for their milking.
         Once he started milking, he was surprised to feel the salve was working as his hands were feeling great and not getting tired as usual. After twenty-five cows were milked, he applied more salve and was elated to discover how fast he was getting the milking done. Within three hours, all cows were milked and ready to go back outside. Donald felt rejuvenated. He cleaned the barn, and the buckets, prepared the milk for pickup, and even threw down more straw for the next feeding.
         This happened for three more weeks when he decided to get another fifty cows. He went to the bank to discuss the purchase with Bill.
         "Morning Donald. Here to deposit any money from a sale?"
         "Nope. Fifty of 'em are here to take some money out to buy some more Jersey. You can never have enough cows."
         "Sounds like you saw the doc. What did she give you?"
         "Nothing. I found this new salve. Working wonders for me." Handing Bill a jar over to look over."
         "Rather slimy, isn't it?"
         "You get used to it. I wipe the excess off with a napkin or hanky I carry."
         Using his hanky to wipe down the jar, Bill carefully opens it and tentatively smells it.
         "Have you smelled this? I mean, really inhaled this stuff?"
         "You know my sinuses are shot. I can't smell a skunk two feet in front of me. Why?"
         "It smells like burnt cooking lard."
         "Oh, I see your confusion. It's called Beet Cheat. B*e*e*t Cheat. It must have an earthy smell to it, that's all. It must be for real. It's got his name on the lid, "Dr. Jim."
         "Know what Donald? I'm glad you're doing well with your farm and milking cows. Buy the fifty you want. Buy as many as you think you can handle. Just remember, I am here if you need to sell any."


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