New Year's Resolutions

Agent 101 has "asked" all of her underlings to submit a list of New Year's resolutions.  I do this begrudgingly.  She claims it will help us to set goals for ourselves to achieve in the coming year.  Right.  Here are mine in no particular order:

1.  I resolve to produce more milk this year, if only for bragging rights that I'm the best.
2.  I resolve to follow through this year on my plan to spray paint "Got Milk?" onto my backside on my birthday that I didn't do last year.
3.  I resolve to go to sleep earlier and not stay up all night watching "Til the Cows Come Home" on Netflix.
4.  I resolve to be one of the first cows to be milked so I can grab a great spot at the silage trough afterwards.
5.  I resolve to report more on what The Farmer does and does not do.  Like when I moo for more feed in the barn and he ignores me when he thinks I've had enough.  I've never had enough!

What will The Farmer be doing on New Year's Day?  He'll be here milking and feeding as he does everyday.  Will he be making any resolutions?  Knowing him, probably not.  I could suggest a couple.  First, The Farmer could resolve to warm up those cold hands before milking time. He could also add some more grain to my ration and that would help me out with my #5.

Agent 421, reporting from the Udder Side.

Dear Rudolph

Tummyaches and Television

I think it must have been something I ate, whether it was too much or too little I'm not sure, but I just started feeling bad.  This morning during my milking I didn't even want to eat my feed, covered in sweet molasses as it was.  When I exited the dairy barn The Farmer singled me out and walked me into the other barn.  In my unhealthy state he easily escorted me into the head chute to keep me still.

I didn't know what to expect except that maybe that he was onto us.  Before I could reach the cyanide capsule underneath my fake tooth The Farmer placed some large pills down my throat. "That oughtta make you feel better." he told me, but I didn't believe him.  The Farmer walked me into a stable, checked to make sure I had water, and then fed me some green, leafy hay.

After he left, Agent 101 came in to check on me.  She asked me if the pills had helped my stomachache any.  I couldn't believe that was why The Farmer had given them to me, but she assured me that was what the pills were for.  She said I would be feeling better by morning.  Maybe The Farmer was being good to me.

Before leaving, Agent 101 loaned me her new Ipad to keep me from being bored while I was alone in the stable.  I did some random web surfing before I came across one of my old favorite television shows, "Til The Cows Come Home" with the famous theme song by Handsome Dairy Dave and the Bashful Bulls.  I ended up staying awake all night watching those crazy cows and their adventures.




Agent 465, feeling a little better and reporting from the Udder Side.

Bovine. Jane Bovine.

And that was just some of the ribbing I got for my mistake this past week.  I have been heckled by most of the senior agents with a few nicknaming me "Double Naught."  Unlike some of them, I take my job seriously and I know that I unfortunately made a mistake.  I cannot begin to describe the embarrassment I had when I told my boss, Agent 101, my theory on how The Farmer must belong to some kind of cult of the Wooly Bull led by a pharaoh.  She laughed in my face when she explained it was just a song from the 60's by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs that The Farmer was playing for his kids to dance to.

I'm a young agent, only 3 years old.  Like most cows I had my first calf at around two years of age and began my first lactation.  How am I supposed to know pop culture from fifty years ago?  But answer me this, did The Farmer's kids begin standing and walking within an hour of their birth?  When (or if) did they reach their maturity?  I was working full time and finished my agent training before they were even out of diapers.

I have about half of my three hundred or so days of milking left and then I will be reassigned to the dry cow group of cows for two months before I calve.  Maybe by then the other agents will forget my faux pas and the nicknames.  But knowing them, they probably won't.

Agent 230, reporting quietly, from the Udder Side.