(The prattlings of foolishness or silliness are sometimes a route for the mind to vent and relax, especially when enduring a broken ankle encased in a fiberglass cast. Also with the aid of a glass of fine Australian red wine. Hence, the first post in a series dubbed "Dear Dairy".)
If I could milk a cow right now, I would enjoy drinking the warm unadulterated milk. How did we discover your wonderful white liquid anyway? Did Ug the Caveman happen to have an urge to suck on an udder after a year of abstaining from the breast of a warm woman? (He was so ugly and deformed, no woman would have him). Was Ooog’s family the discoverers when during a famine they watched the pups of the clan’s dogs nurse at the teats of their bitch and noticed how they grew?
Did The Antler Hunter discover the greatness of milk when he killed a female deer that was still suckling her young? Since his family utilizes every part of the animal he kills, his children tasted the dead mother’s milk meant for her own offspring and they prospered. Or was it Lizzie Bordan’s father and mother whose secret for the white ‘gold’ was passed down for generations. When their cow went dry, Lizzie was pissed and killed her folks with an axe.
Oh, and that rancid milk that curdles and, when rinsed, tastes as good as the fresh liquid. Cover it in cloth, pile it into a box made of boards, and press it down to squeeze out the liquid and let it age. Some call this ‘cheese’, but we call it ‘moon milk’. We know that cow’s milk turns solid after it jumps over the moon.
Which leads to the question: is our Moon made of cheese? If so, it is Wenslydale, Havarti, or Limburger? Thus a trip to our Moon will be necessary to extract a piece to eat, taste and type it. Perhaps we will discover a new taste and brand of cheese. We could persuade the sexy SpaceShip One to schedule excursions to our Moon. We can watch and wait for a full Earth to howl at and admire.