Lighten Up: The milk lorry gives me the heebie-jeebies

A fear of the milk lorry is something no dairy farmer can afford to have.
I'm often asked why I gave up milking cows.
And this very question could be asked down at the mart or at the ambassador's ball.
Regardless of where I am, the question is always the same.
"Why did you give up the cows, Denny? Especially when you were so good around them?"
And yes, it is true, I was quite the connoisseur of the pap.
The milking cluster was like a hurley in my hand, the pap was my sliotar.
And when we all came together, at milking time, I was like the Christy Ring of the milking stall.
I was the milking equivalent of an all-star, all-Ireland winner.
So, where did it all go wrong?
Well, if truth be told, at a certain stage in life, I found my 20 cows were getting long in the tooth, as was I.
Mastitis was getting out of hand, back legs had become tricky to avoid, my own milking hand had become shaky, my stall had seen better days, and my bank account was indicating something was rotten in the state of Denmark.
"But besides all that?" You might cry.
Well, the full truth is that I had also developed a phobia of milk lorries. And it was this fear that rattled me the most.
For while I could get over all the rest, a fear of the milk lorry is something no dairy farmer can afford to have.
The milk lorry was giving me the heebie-jeebies.
And this was especially the case when I heard the rumble of the milk lorry in the early mornings.
Back then, during peak milking season, the milk lorry had an awful habit of turning up at an ungodly hour every second morning.
Like a bawling calf in search of milk, it would thunder up the lane and into the yard demanding satisfaction.
And even in mornings when I did get up, long before mortal man should, I would be no sooner started, than on up the lane the lorry would thunder.
The rumble of that truck, the air of panic, the struggle to finish a job I wish I had never started, all became too much to handle.
This fear of imminent arrival, had me driven senseless.
I had to give up the cows. I was left with little choice.
I feared the milk lorry, the way Ichabod Crane feared the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
Even today, as I stroll along a country road minding my own business, the sudden sound of a faraway milk truck can startle me, as my mind races back to those days when it would instill panic in this country boy.
Of course, people often wonder if I might one day return to my stall of my youth?
Well, the simple answer is: "No."
So long as there are milking trucks in the world, you won't find me under a cow.