I grew up on a Minnesota dairy farm so I know all about cows and calves and their ability to kick you when you’re least expecting it.

My city-slicker husband (whose hometown had a population of about 150) was surprised the other day when he was helping round up a bunch of calves and one of the yearlings delivered a forceful sidekick that left him bruised.

“I thought cows could only kick backwards,” he mused, nursing his sore leg.

As far as I could remember, cows can kick any way their darn well please — sideways, backwards and forwards. But to substantiate my claim, I consulted with my middle brother Rod, the former dairy farmer turned massage therapist and kaleidoscope maker.

“I had years of experience getting nailed by cows,” Rod assured me. “Absolutely, they can kick in any direction. And some of them have amazing reach; they’re like ballet dancers.”

The most dangerous kick from a spunky cow, he advised, is “a short jab out to the side and straight down ... it’s like a diagonal slashing motion.”

We spent the rest of the phone conversation reminiscing about the best and the worst cows we remembered. And since he milked cows for a number of years after I left home, he had quite a few stories to share.

“One of the worst for kicking was Gladys,” he recalled. “She was a descendent of the infamous Dancer, but Dad would never sell her because she produced so much milk.

“Of course Gladys was really just high-strung,” he continued. “The worst for sheer bad attitude was Annie. Boy, was she surly. Dad would never sell her, either.”

We spent time reminiscing about our 4-H calves of bygone days.

Rod’s prized calf, Gloria, went on to become a consistent winner and a grand champion in the 2-year-old division.

“She was the love of my life,” my sappy sibling gushed, then shouted to his wife he was talking about Holsteins, not actual other women.

“Gloria knew when she was on stage. She’d lift up her head and tilt it just right for the judges,” he continued. “She was so tame I used to ride her when I was bringing the cows home.”

Another of his 4-H calves, Rosie, was a different story. She broke loose one time and led him on a chase to two neighboring farms and onto our North Eighty before he caught up with her.

“If I’d have had a gun I might have shot her. I was that mad,” he said.

By this time my brother was in full nostalgia mode and there was no getting him off the phone.

“Big White, now there was a great cow,” he gushed. “She had such a good attitude, and she stood a foot taller than all the rest.”

Because there were cows on our farm for well over a century, and because my father and his father named each cow, it was common to have at least three or four generations of cows by the same name. I remember three Petunias and quite a few Blackies.

Milking cows morning and night makes you intimately connected to that lifestyle. We all spent a lot of time in the barn, and we all got kicked in the shins on occasion. The bruises healed, and what we were left with are a lot of wonderful memories.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.