If I'd been on prime-time TV, I'd have been bleeped. The day before, Sheila pulled one of her "maybe I will and maybe I won't" tricks and it was just too hot to chase her down to get her into the milking room. "Fine. Just stay out and swell up like a toad. You'll be sorry." Yesterday was hotter still, but I couldn't let her go two days in a row when she played coy again, so Ring Around the Rosy it was. Soaked with sweat after milking the other three and feeding the two nonmilkers, mucking stalls, and chasing Sheila, I was down to stripping the teats after milking her out and looking forward to freedom when she lifted a foot, caught the lip of the overly full bucket, and splashed out nearly two gallons of milk. "Bleep, bleep, bleep!!!" Trying very hard, I finally found two bright sides to this situation. One, the bucket tipped away from me, and two, the milk settled the dust in the room.
Some days are harder than others.