I worked on milking Coco this afternoon. Not an official milking, but a therapeutic milking. One of her quarters is very tight and uncomfortable and she won't let Little One nurse off that one. I got out colostrum, hopefully enough to ease up the pressure.
Poor Coco. She was so good. She knew I was trying to help her. Her leg twitched, and she wanted to kick me, but she didn't.
Serge was fixing a broken doorknob on the back door when Patrick came in to tell me she wouldn't let him do the milking. I went out in "go to town" clothes, boots, black tights, skirt and sweater, to do the milking. I think the boys found that humorous. Sure am glad she didn't kick me OR the bucket.
Colostrum is tucked in the freezer, for future baby needs. Guess we will continue to work on that quarter and hope to avoid mastitis. Made me remember my experience of nursing first born baby and how at times my toes curled in pain, as mama and baby tried to figure out the system (those were the days before lactation consultants.) Maybe the understanding tone in my voice was the reason she let me work on her instead of Patrick?
Hope she doesn't kick me tomorrow...
PS I suppose I won't have to have a fierce argument with the Wind tonight. All is calm and the house is so much warmer. For the moment, anyway!