Milking
Put the goat on the stanchion;
Brush off the loose hairs;
Warm cloth on her udder to wipe away dirt.
Milk pail under her; hands on full teats
– Pinch off between thumb and first finger –
Close fist.
Feel the milk squeeze down:
Left hand – spoooosh
Right hand – spoooosh
Left hand again – shhhhhhh
Rhythmically streaming into the pail.
Sometimes slower,
Sometimes faster,
But always with rhythm.
Cheek pressed up against her soft, warm side,
Smelling goat,
Not overpowering, just good.
Her stomach gurgles.
Chew, Chew, Chew
She has cud in her mouth, a big lump;
You can see it in her cheek.
She is relaxed,
Chewing with rhythm.
And the milk is coming down,
spoooosh, spoooosh, shhhhhhh.
Bailey Dark
dottiegirl 
Love this descriptive poem! =) It has me thinking a bit more about the cows I often see around here in the Andes. As common as they are, I’ve never had the opportunity to be very close to one, let alone milk one. Nevertheless, cows have always been some of my fave animals. =)
P.S. It’s so great to meet you through Sharon! =) Hugs!