THE DAIRY.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 878, 28 December 1888, Page 18

THE DAIRY.

THE MINISTER’S COW f \p^/. REV. J. C.FKRNALD, OIFIO, IN THE; AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST.- • It was necessary to get a cow for our baby. ’Then began a hunt. My first discovery was that most farmors In our section virtually kept but one cow. Oh, certainly, there would

be a herd of cattle—a dozen or fifteen, perhaps. But it would be like this :Mr Ecks would sell me a cow. I went into his yard at milking time, walked paßt several that would give two or three quarts at a milking, two or three that would give six at their utmost when fresh, stopped at one which had the true milker’s marks, and could be depended on to be a four gallon cow, and asked her price. The answer was, ‘ I shouldn’t want to sell that one. ’ At Mr. Wye’s, when I made my pick of the only cow it would really pay to keep, the answer was, ‘ That’s the only thing on the place that I won’t sell.' I soon found that, on numerous farms, the one cow had to keep up the reputation of the herd. There would be two or three who were a tolerable second to her. The others were such as would have demoralized the best ledger that ever was invented, if their food had been entered on the ‘ Dr.’ side and their milk expected to balance the account. Autumn was fast coming on, and developed this further fact, that great numbers of cows were already half starved. There had been a drouth, but tbe full number had been kept in the dry. pastures, nothing fed t» them, and what didn’t grow they . had to do without. I went to see one man who had ‘ a fresh Jersey ’ to sell for forty dollars. She was standing, thin ns a rail, and very melancholy, in a wretched, Bcrubby lot. Near her was a pretty heifer, a little more forlorn. The owner said, ‘That’s a three-year-old. She come in a while ago, but pastur’s been rather short, and she hain’t done very well. I out off a piece of her tail the other day to freshen her up a bit 1’ Poor little cow 1 Trying to give milk without food, and when ebe failed under the strain, afforded the Btimulous of an amputation as a substitute for something to eat. Another man told me, not long after, * My whole herd ain’t giving so much as one good oow ought to.'. 1 asked him if he had tried feeding bran or anything when the pasture began to fail. He answered, ‘No; perhaps it would have been worth while.’ In fact, here were hundreds of cattle starting in to what proved a hard, cold winter, half starved to begin with. Such a herd would eat every scrap of a great barn full of hay, give no milk worth speaking of the season through, and come out lean and wretched in the spring. It is a question if a cow ever fully recovers from one spell of starvation. . . Next - the farrer cow’ put in an appearance. She was for sale on every hand. Twenty-fiye dollars would buy her. She would give from a gallon to six quarts a day, and her, great recommendation was the splendid frame of bones to lay meat on, for sale in the spring. Certainly, if ever meat was needed, it wa3 there. Out-door exercise agreed with her, and after snow was on the ground,, you would see her standing on the solitary hillside, under a leafless tree, where a placard was tacked up advertising * Pure, Raw Bone,’ while she mused upon the mysteries of civilization.

Then came recommendations of certain oows which ‘ don’t seem to haTe much bag, but when you begin to milk them, the milk comes.' I am ready to testify that it doesn’t come. A good cow, like a good business man, will have some visible assets. If she has much milk, she will have,a place to keep it in. She should have a good, generous udder, whioh is shapely after milking, its four sections keeping separate individuality and maintaining the ‘square’ formation. If it all falls together, like au old glove, she may have any amount of indorsements, but Bhe won’t have milk. At length, I heard of ‘a staving good cow,’ that belonged to a doctor, who however asked * an awiul prioe ’ for her —fifty dollars. I went to see her ; a great, stately Shorthorn, mottled red and white, with just a dash of native blood from the ‘o’d Beck stock.’ She had the shorthorns of her race; head and limbs small for her size and finely formed ; large, soft, kind eyes ; deep ohest and body, with milk veins as large as her halter rope ; and a bag with seven teats, five of which give milk. It seemed as if Nature had tried to double the ordinary milking capacity, and almost succeeded. She—that is the cow, not Nature—had meat on her rib 3 ; her hide was loose, her coat like velvet. She had never been starred nor abased since she was born, and had the sumptuous, patrician look, which even a well-bred animal get from habitual prosperity. Then her record was of the highest. Never one of her calves had gone to the butcher. A neighbour had" ons of them, now a three-year- old heifer, for whioh he wou d not take seventy-five dollars. I paid the ‘awful price,’ and opened a dairy with one oow. When her beautiful calf came at Thanksgiving time, everything began to overflow with milk. Over and over again we measured it, thirteen quarts, or thirteen quarts and a pint—a safe average of more than six gallons daily. The cream does not separate quite as readily as that of the Jerseys. Her skim-milk is better than we ean buy of the milkman. But the cream churnß into butter of the finest quality and with great facility, so that churning Is a joke in our family. Through the Bummer she kept up her four gallon average with little diminution, and through the secceeding winter did all that conld rationally be expected. Now she is ‘ fresh ’ again, and we have still the brimming pail and the ohoica butter, while the two calves she has given us are already winning reputation in the two towns to whioh they have gone at good prices. It seems to me that here is a way out for many discouraged dairy farmers, who find * it don't pay. They will promptly answer, * They can’t afford to buy blood stock ;’ no, nor anything else, so long as they keep those cadaverouß, cavernous receptacles capable of containing everything that can be produced on a farm except milk, Let them pick out two or three of the worst ones, and shut them up to fatten ; feed them well and get through with them soon. Then they will have some money to buy something with and can buy just one first-class cow of whose milking qualities they are perfectly sure. If possible, they should get one that is in condition to give a full meBS immediately, or very soon, so that the profits may begin right off. Then let them fall npon two or three more of those unprofitable servants and treat them better than they were ever treated before ip their lives, asking no return till the butcher is ready to give it. Don’t mipd if the inferior milker is young, That’s

all the more reason . for getting rid of her, because there would be so many years to milk her at a loss. Besides, her beef will be ever so much better eating. Then let the farmer get another carefully picked cow. Soon he will have five or six first-class milkers that will give more than the whole herd sacrificed, with half the feed and half the trouble. It’s far easier, as'well, as pleasanter, to milk six cows than sixteen for the same amonnt of milk. He can then save all the heifer calves from _these choice cattle, taking care that they inherit good qualities from both sides, and he will soon have a herd to be proud of, and that will * pay.’ It was qnlte amusing to have onr Dew girl l just from the country exclaim, as she lifted the great pail of milk to strain it off, * Mercy 1. Is ail that milk from one cow V Wouldn’t it pay to have every cow on a farm like that one ?