LIZZIE THE TIZZIE

Excerpt #8 from Dr. Crittenden's Memoirs:

LIZZIE THE TIZZIE (1936-11 years old)

Our milk cow was named Lizzie the Tizzie. She furnished us with plenty of milk, cream and butter during the lean years of the Depression. We didn't live on a farm; we only had two acres of land. My parents had been raised on farms; we always had a large garden, a milk cow, one or two fattening hogs and laying chickens. Lizzie had a calf once a year which we raised for meat.

My brothers and I were taught to work, but I was the most reluctant worker on the place. I got a reputation for being lazy. Everybody had an anecdote about my legendary laziness. Since I weighed 14 pounds at birth, mama said I lay in the womb an extra month because I was too lazy to come out. Dad said I would get in the row in front of the plow horse and refuse to move when told to do so. He would have to tie the reins, go around the plow and horse, pick me up, and put me to one side. E. J. said he saw me sitting on the floor of the kitchen watching mama work and heard me say, "Mama, I think you just love to work." I don't think I was lazy, but I did prefer reading books to sweating in the yard.

All that changed when Lizzie the Tizzie came to live with us. It became my job to milk her morning and night. Nobody can milk a cow the first time. If you keep at it in four or five days you'll have the knack and your hands will be strong enough to do the job.

My routine began with the clean aluminum bucket that hung on a nail by the back door that mama had hung there. I ran a pint or so of water in the bucket to use in washing Lizzie's bag and teats. This was at 5:30 AM summer and winter. She was always standing by the stable door, because she knew it was time for her to be fed. I put 3 scoops of cottonseed hulls and 1 scoop of meal in an old feed bucket. I also picked up the stool on which I sat while milking. Inside the stable there was no floor. The ground was usually wet and muddy, covered with cow tracks and manure. The feed was put in a trough for Lizzie to eat, and I put the stool at her business end, always hoping there was enough feed to last until I had finished. If the feed ran out first, she would move her rear end around and might turn over or step in my milk bucket. I pulled my stool up close and leaned my face on her flank, used the clean water to bathe her udder, and began spewing white streams of milk in the general direction of the bucket. The bucket sat on the ground, because I used both hands to milk.

Pasteurization? Don't make me laugh. We had never heard of it.

In about 20 minutes her bag was dry.

Homogenized? What is that?

I didn't mind milking the cow. Once Don came into the stable while I was milking. I turned the teat up and squirted fresh milk into Don's mouth. It was too warm for his liking. On some occasions Lizzie stepped into the milk bucket. I had a difficult time picking out the bits of mud and manure, but what I didn't get, I'm sure the straining rag caught. I certainly wasn't going to tell mama the cow had stepped into the milk!