Daisy in­tro­duced to Robot world

The Galloway News - - FARMING REVIEW - Daisy the cow

Some­thing big is hap­pen­ing in the cow shed. I was idly gaz­ing out the shed, tak­ing a break from eat­ing, poo­ing and mak­ing milk when two enor­mous shiny lor­ries pulled into the yard.

Now we are all used to the milk tanker, the cake wagon and vet’s van but these were some­thing en­tirely new.

They open up the sides and the farm loader lifted two big lumps all wrapped in plas­tic. This was all su­per­vised by the very ex­cited farmer and an even more ex­cited dairy­man.

Now, as a herd, we are not over bur­dened by thrills and ex­cite­ment. When the big­gest event in your cal­en­dar is ei­ther a visit from the vet or the AI man, then any­thing out of the or­di­nary at­tracts quite a crowd.

Be­fore long, most of the herd was try­ing to get a view of the pro­ceed­ings. There were di­verse opin­ions. Could it be a pair of sun­tan cab­ins for the farm­ers daugh­ters? They were look­ing a bit pasty af­ter the young farm­ers dance.

Maybe a su­per­size wash­ing ma­chine and tum­ble drier? No fi­nal de­ci­sion was made and when they started up the par­lour we all lost in­ter­est and wan­dered off to get milked.

The next day again another big sur­prise. The lumps were moved into the col­lect­ing yard and all through the day it was a hive of ac­tiv­ity with bang­ing clang­ing.

Some fairly colour­ful lan­guage, not from our dairy­man for a change. Twice a day we wan­dered past it. At first the lumps got a bit of at­ten­tion. We licked them, noth­ing. We sniffed them, noth­ing. We pooed on them, noth­ing. Well, when I say noth­ing, that ob­vi­ously ex­cludes the fairly colour­ful lan­guage and a few threats that sug­gested we would end up as burg­ers if we did not de­sist.

By the end of the third day we pretty much ig­nored them as we headed to the par­lour.

Then on day four it all changed. Bright and early we all ended up as usual in the col­lect­ing yard but the par­lour was not go­ing. Some­thing was up. New gates were in place, lights flashed on the big lumps. Well, this was all get­ting a bit much and then be­fore you know it, I was per­suaded be­hind a gate and into the lump.

Now what? I had a look round and was about to get re­ally up­set when lo and be­hold, a por­tion of con­cen­trate ap­peared as if by magic in front of me.

I was not go­ing to look a gift horse in the mouth so head down and eat. Then it hap­pened from nowhere - some dis­em­bod­ied force cleaned my teats, ac­tu­ally not that un­pleas­ant. Kind of a tick­ling. Then be­fore you could say foul-mouthed dairy­man, the milk­ing clus­ter was at­tached.

I kept turn­ing around to see where the dairy­man was but he was nowhere in sight. It was just like be­ing in the par­lour but no dairy­man. What is it? I think I will call it a Robot. I won­der if the name will catch on?

All milked out, the clus­ter came off. I stood wait­ing for another load of con­cen­trate. I waited and waited, even­tu­ally got fed up and off I went.

The rest of the herd took a bit more con­vinc­ing to go visit the Robot. Much colour­ful lan­guage en­sued. How­ever, by the end of the day even the new heifers had got the point and soon we were all queu­ing up.

I think the promise of con­cen­trate ev­ery time you visit may have helped.

Now you would have thought that not hav­ing to get up and milk twice a day would have made our dairy­man a re­ally happy chap­pie.

And for the most part he was, un­til the alarm goes off on the Robot in the mid­dle of the night and he has to come and fix it. I just love progress.

Next thing you know they will be milk­ing sheep. But then what do I know, I am only a dairy cow.

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