Thick, Rich and CreamySubmitted by FALLEN at 2010-10-12 08:11:28 EDT
Rating: 1.5 on 28 ratings (28 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
The 7500 dairy farms in Western Pennsylvania made up an almost two billion dollar business. All that changed with the recession.
Foreign exports dropped forty percent, but the cows didn’t know or care. There was milk in their udders and this surplus drove domestic milk pricing from twenty one dollars a hundredweight to thirteen dollars in less than a year.
Overall the whole industry was fucked when the economy went south but Gary took an even bigger hit than his fellow farmers.
The average automatic milking system would run you about two hundred thousand but that snake of a salesman made it sound like a sure thing. It was his own damned fault, his greed and ambition. Before the economy tanked Gary seized the chance to buy Clifton’s farm when the old man retired. Burnham Farms was now the fourth largest dairy farm in the country. An upgrade in Clifton’s equipment was needed and XMS5000 would fit the bill, even if the bill was three hundred and seventy five thousand dollars.
“Mr. Burnham, I realize our product is bit more than our competitors but you can process you herd in half the time, half my friend. You will be the cutting edge of efficiency in dairy farms.”
Cutting edge was the problem. There is always the potential for blood when milking even when using an automatic unit, a bit too much pressure on the teat or a knick, it happens. The XMS had a design that the teat cup would clamp on as the milking began and at random times too much pressure was applied. The cow would shift from the sudden pain and a badly machined edge would slice into the flesh. Blood and bits of skin and hair are expected and are filtered out. The solid bits are caught in a fine mesh screening and the blood tainted milk is sent to a holding tank.
This flaw ruined the manufacturer of the XMS. Reports of excessive blood and a few unexplained deaths caused them to file bankruptcy and they left the owners with no recourse.
Thousands of gallons of the ruined milk were disposed of every week at Burnham’s. The falling market prices, the cost of the acquisition of the other farm, and the expense of the damned machine was bleeding him faster than his cows were being bled. The loss of milk every week was another push towards financial ruin.
He received the call that unit four had a problem, a problem he didn’t need. One cow was cut severely, severing the lower half of the teat completely. It wasn’t until it collapsed in the chute, having been drained of blood, that they became aware. Compounding this, the filtering system had malfunctioned and the tainted blood had been diverted into the chocolate processing tank. Ten thousand gallons of chocolate milk would be dumped; this will be the straw that broke the camels back.
Late into that fateful evening Gary stood looking at the tanks, cursing fate and life, and the fucking tank of brown gold that would soon be emptied and cleaned. He opened the small valve and a small stream flowed into the glass. Shutting it off, he held it to the light. The deep rich chocolate milk had a consistency like never before. Swirling it up the sides of the glass Gary could see the translucent curtain of milk as it slid down and the slight chestnut brown color. It was smooth, a velvety appearance enticing to the mouth begging to be brought to the lips.
He drank deeply.
Cold full cream milk and rich chocolate overwhelmed his senses. Something was different about it a depth of flavor a full substantive body he had never tasted before. There was nothing to indicate that the cow’s blood had become one with the milk. It was almost seductive and after the second tall glass it was then inspiration stuck
People would be loss for words to describe their first taste of Burnham’s Premium Chocolate Velvet Milk. Sales skyrocketed and within a few years they held the contract supplying milk to most of the schools in Pennsylvania.
Now Gary Burnham alone oversees the final step in the production of his chocolate milk. Every batch is seen by him personally. Flipping the lever on his desk he watches the blood flow through the pipes like a crimson serpent spilling into the vat.