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Elite girl hunting for Turned into a cow story especially for courtship

Turned Into A Cow Story
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You think it has been three days since you developed this udder, it could be longer but you can't think straight since you are constantly being milked. The woman whoms breasts you sucked until you developed this udder walked in with her attendants and smiled evilly "Well, you have been producing milk quite well and we think because you are so valuable; we are going to turn you into a proper cow and keep you here forever" The two female attendants unhook you from your stand and take off the milking apparatus. You feel a short sense of relief until your udder begins filling again. She le you off to a special room which was at the end of the milking room. It starts to extend out into a muzzle, your nose also changes so it is larger and your nostrils are at the side.

Name: Georgette

Age: 28
Tint of my eyes: I’ve got soft dark eyes but I use colored contact lenses
Sex: Lady
What is my hair: Blond
What is my body type: I'm quite muscular
What I prefer to listen: Country
I like tattoo: I don't have tattoos

A month earlier, I had been in the very same ultrasound room, listening to a heartbeat, watching a baby that Dr. I Turned into a cow story grinning with anticipation as the ultrasound technician handed me an envelope that would later tell my husband and I that we were adding a third boy to our farm family. I imagined him running in and out of the barn with his brothers, building cities in the sand, treasure hunting, laughing and playing and fighting….

My father-in-law had my boys, and my brother-in-law had my girls. The burial site was beautiful but once we returned home, I needed to go to the barn. Once I walked into the barn, I started to cry. I had milked eight times since delivering our baby. It never leaves you but it does get easier. As a wife and Mom to two young boys, her schedule was full and life was hectic. We analyze every pound of feed they eat, every little behavior they display, every drop of milk they give.

The barn is where I solve all or most of my problems. The roar of the vacuum pump and the consistent rhythm of the milking machine ease my mind and spark my creativity. No, we use very few chemicals on our farm, and the ones I had been exposed to cleaning chemicals had been in use since before the pregnancy.

I know the cows, their moods, who their friends are in the herd, and their habits. They stand and proceed to chew their cud, regardless if there are tears rolling down your face. It was May 8,and what was supposed to have been a routine 20 week anatomy scan had just turned into a nightmare.

Over the next few milkings the tears got less and less and my soul felt a little more at peace. Needing to be alone with my thoughts, alone with my feelings; I needed to decide how to proceed and what emotions were in my head and in my heart. Heather, I just cannot imagine going through that. I could feel myself relax. My husband arrived and the nurse started the procedure to induce labor. Heather, thank you for your story and im so sorry for your loss.

Prayers to you. The barn is where I center myself, the place where I deal with my emotions, the place where I hang my hopes and dreams, the place where I come to after a long day of working in town.

About the girl who turned into a cow

I am heartbroken for you. Reading your story was as though I was reading my own. We do everything in our power to keep them happy and healthy. They will never make us rich but they will fill our hearts. Why though? Brandon and I welcomed and said goodbye to our third son, Orvin Lloyd, within the same moment. We had two daughters. My husband works off the farm and manages head of feeder cattle so milking falls entirely to me. We named him after two of the very first dairy farmers in my life, my grandfathers. The morning after we lost him, my husband went to the barn, alone and of course cried.

Snowy white, he laid serenely while I marveled at him.

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That first milking, Brandon stood by in anticipation, washing cows, moving milkers, talking. They help heal our wounds and they imprint themselves on our very identity. No, none of my cows were kickers. I wracked my brain, trying to come up with a reason to blame myself.

Heather’s story – cow’s don’t care if you cry

We too lost our only son. As I came to the last cow, Cinnamon, a beautiful Brown Swiss, her eyes told me how much she trusted me. Had I fallen?

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All that pain and no joy. I was released from the hospital 21 hours after the ultrasound.

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In the hospital room, I cried when my brother-in-law answered his phone. No, impossible. The sun was shining, and I had a fleeting thought of all the chores waiting for me. Inmy dream came true, and we started our own dairy. Chore time at Moore Moos is p. Kramer held my arm, and I began to cry. No one had pushed me. God is good, and he sent that special cow in a special way that gave my husband a sense of sadness, but also comfort and peace.

On October 7, ; she started milking cows at their Iowa dairy. It was there where I imagined a little boy in a stroller, waiting in the alley while I milked, listening to my stories and laughing at my songs. To add to the heart break, Diana died last year. I was angry the day of the burial. It was there that I had thought about the baby and what he would become. Heather, Thank you for sharing your story. That was a very tough time.

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As hard as I tried, I could not come up with a single way to blame myself. Angry that I had to bury our baby and angry that the world that I had I worked so hard to keep in order was now in shambles. Occasionally one might lick your shoulder, or chew on your hair, as if to let you know that they are listening. Thanks for your courage in telling your story. He agreed to milk without asking for details. I like to think their big eyes understood something was amiss as they moved to their stalls a little more quickly and a little more quietly than was typical.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Brandon, ready to try this on my own. Was I exposed to a new chemical? We depend on them for so much more than just making a living. Even though I had two inductions under my belt, this one was agonizing. In a grocery store bathroom, I counted the milkings.

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Eight hours later, at pm, our third son was born. How many more would I need for these feelings to go away? I have a collage in my office that I made in my high school English class which lists my life goals:. Brandon had gone home hours before to do his chores and to check on a cow that had just calved.

Half a dozen cows into milking, I could feel the burning anger in the pit of my stomach ease and finally die away. Once home, I went looking for the new calf. Having had 2 miscarriages I can only imagine the pain of loosing a baby at 20 weeks. I found Turned into a cow story, curled in the straw of our baby calf pen. I milked cows that night and later went into labor. Brandon offered to find someone to milk for me, but I declined.

Your post was beautiful and I cried through the whole thing. No matter my shortcomings, no matter how much hurt I felt, I knew then that it would be okay. It might be another week, month or year, but the pain would subside. Sitting alone in an empty exam room, I called my husband who was at home. The ultrasound was ordered to confirm a September arrival. I met my husband at UW-Platteville, in a class about managing beef cattle required for me, enjoyed by him.

Through our shock, we made plans for our boys, as well as a list of everyone we knew that might be able to milk my 30 dairy cows. When we discussed getting married and my move from dairy country in Wisconsin to beef country in Iowa, a dairy farm was always included in the conversation.

But those thoughts were pushed to the back of my mind.

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Brodie would be 5 this July and we still miss him everyday. Our cows give us a reason to weather all kind of storms- the literal, the financial and the ones that rock our souls.

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My girls were always going to be there to remind me that I would be okay. My body would get stronger, and my heart would heal. I cannot tell you how many times I have curled up with Bambi my favorite Jersey in a freestall and just bawled or hid in the robot room and cried for hours while the cows just came in and came out.

But I imagine our little boy petting his cow in heaven: Hugs to you and your family! Others let you lean against them as you bury your face in their sleek side and sob. Had I gotten kicked or pushed?

beautiful madam Molly

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