You make do with what you have, not wishing you had something else.
Squatting around a fire one morning sipping black coffee, someone said, "I wish we had some milk for our coffee." Without a word, one of the cowboys stepped into his saddle and rode off. No one even seemed to notice. Suddenly they heard a loud commotion, a crashing of brush, bellowing of a cow, the blatting of a calf, then observed a big cloud of dust, and it was getting closer to the fire. The cowboy appeared, dragging a big old Brama Cow at the end of his rope. He quickly rode around a tree and pulled that old cow up until her forehead was pressed against the tree. Then he jumped off his horse and wrapped his rope around her horns, tying her hard and fast to the tree. She couldn't move left, right, or back.
Stepping over to the fire, he picked up his cup of coffee, and carried it over to the old cow. Putting his shoulder against her flank, he leaned into her, reached down and put exactly the correct amount of milk in his coffee. Without a word, he walked over and squatted down next to the fire and sipped his coffee.
He hadn't contemplated the milk producing traits of Jersey vs Herford, or Holstein vs Longhorn, he roped what he had and milked her.
And that was how in 1975, I fixed my first cup of coffee, working on a ranch in the Matto Grosso country in southern Brazil. I didn't do the roping, but I was third or fourth in line for a squirt of moo juice.