For the third time this fall my Jersey; Dorsey, has decided that she would not be milked. I think it has something to do with -15, -22, and -25 degree temps and my cold hands. She kicks me off her udder with little in the way of gentleness and looks at me as if to say; "How would you like it if someone were to drag you from your bed and stick their frostbit hands on your sporran? A door for the milking room and a forced air LP heater are in the works. Herself says Santa has a milking machine in his sleigh. In the meanwhile, I am hoping for milder weather until the work is finished and we can make Her Highness a bit more comfy.