Milking Time

Brett walked up to the cow and slapped its hindquarters.

“Nice ass, cow,” he said with a laugh.

The farmer looked at Brett and frowned. “Now, that’s a good way to get your cow running, breaking things in your barn, and getting all the other cattle riled up. Don’t do that.”

Brett looked at him with a dopey grin on his face. “Sure thing, boss.”

“Also, don’t compliment the cow’s rump. Makes you look like you’re a total creep.”

“Hey man, I hear about the things that happen in the country.”

The farmer looked at Brett, then rolled his eyes. “Anyway. Sit on the stool, and grab the teat. Then gently squeeze it only the length to pull the milk out. Not too hard, but don’t be all soft-handed either.”

Brett sat on the stool and grabbed the cow’s udder. The farmer saw it coming – Brett grabbing far too hard – and didn’t say anything as the cow let out a loud moo, turned, and kicked Brett squarely in the shoulder. Brett went flying backward and cried out.

“Told ya to be careful,” the farmer said.

“I’ll sue your ass!” Brett yelled.

“That’s why I got you to sign the waiver. You didn’t listen. You got hit. Now get off your ass, and I’ll show you how to muck out the stalls.”

“I don’t wanna do – ”

“Shut up. When you show you can handle it, I’ll let you try something a little more complex.”

Brett spluttered, then stood up, rubbing his shoulder and following the farmer to the stall.


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