How to Milk a Mare

Poor Legend. Hapless horse, mistreated mare, picked on person, yes, she was all of these, and while she was a very proud mother, we must remember that she wasn't even consulted in the matter. It was all just a hare-brained Harris-Daniels scheme, a wouldn't it be great if... .

And as any human mother can attest, not everything is universally pleasing about early maternity. For Legend, it was nursing. Her bag filled with yummy mare's milk, but it was very tender. Did her foal care? He did not! If milk were not forthcoming in sufficient quantity, he would give her bag a firm swipe with his muzzle. She flinched with pain but persisted. The baby, Secret, had to be fed. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

Weaning time came when Secret was about four months old. Legend's bag was still filled with yummy mare's milk but without a colt to drink it, she had to be milked by hand. She had a big bag and little spigots. It was thumb and forefinger work all the way.

As luck would have it, it was also time for the Tevis Cup ride. I had already earned my buckle on the aforementioned Legend and figured out that since I only wore one belt at a time, I only needed one buckle. But Legend and I had taken up the charitable activity of riding drag from Michigan Bluff to Auburn. Drag riders try to make sure that everyone makes it into the fair grounds on time and earns a buckle. We especially try to make sure no one gets lost in the volcano beds and river bottoms along the way. Legend and I couldn't let the side down, now, could we?

So we showed up at Michigan Bluff, ready and loaded for milking. Legend's bag was full. Very full. I had to milk her before we left and I wanted to drain her bag dry. So, with thumbs and forefingers, it was squeeze and squirt, squeeze and squirt. Cramp time. Switch to thumb and middle finger. More cramp time. Very good, I've milked for five minutes and I'm already cramped from fingers through elbows to shoulders. Can knees be far behind?

And, as has happened so often in my life, a female came to save me, this time in the person of a young girl whose mare's foal had died. She had become an expert mare milker, and offered to do the job for me, since she couldn't tell who was in greater misery, Legend or me. In very short order, she had emptied Legend's bag of milk and we were ready to take up the drag.

And that's how you milk a mare – find a teenage girl to do it for you.