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And here is the article I transcribed from the scrapbook.

Horrors . . . a parlor full of Adas!
Farm Journal’s favorite cow shows why a modern milking “parlor” is anything but what that word implies
By Eugene H. Logsdon (1964)
Whatever one’s opinion of dairying may be, there probably isn’t a word in the English language so ill suited as “parlor” to describe the room where you milk. My dictionary defines parlor as a room primarily for conversation, relaxation or the reception of guests. Need I say more?
I well remember our optimism when we put together our first milking parlor. We had reams of blueprints giving dimensions for a variety of designs. Illustrated booklets told us how to do everything from mixing cement to cleaning out glass pipelines.
But as for getting the cow into the parlor, this was shrugged off as merely a matter of cow training. The consensus of opinion was that the actual entrance was a matter left pretty much up to the cow.
Indeed it was!
I will not go into all the lurid details of the first time we tried to run our herd through the milking parlor—how a three inch pipe imbedded in concrete and bolted to a beam above was torn loose from it moorings; how one cow even managed to ram her head through a fluorescent light in the ceiling; what can only be humorously referred to as a holding pen was twice battered down by the charge of the Holstein brigade; how the exit door—two thicknesses of laminated hardwood—was torn loose from its hinges and splintered against the wall.
We developed a different definition of parlor. The “conversation” was exceedingly one-sided and scarcely of parlor variety. The “relaxation” was enjoyed only by those cows that we pushed bodily into the parlor. And the “reception” of visitors was enough to make Amy Vanderbilt take up cigar smoking.
Out of the ordeal, I have formulated the following data which you will need if you intend to operate a milking parlor.
1. When building, beware of specifications made for cows. Think in terms of Sherman tanks.
2. On occasion expect to find as many as three cows in a place where only one is supposed to fit.
3. If you find your parlor suddenly occupied by four cows more than its capacity, get out quick.
4. Consider beforehand the limits of your bravery and strength of heart. Until you stand in a milking pit and see a stall gate swing toward you with a cow draped over it, you do not know what fear is.
5. While working in the pit, wear a space helmet and a diving suit.
However, if you live through it your cows will come to accept the parlor as a way of life. After that, your herd will develop a more or less set pattern for the entering of the parlor. In this pattern you will distinguish the following cow types.
Chargers. These cows come into the parlor without any trouble at all. They fear neither man nor beast in their desire for grain, and they trample you if you get in the way.
Door Pounders. Door Pounders are Chargers who don’t get into the parlor with the first batch. They keep butting the door to let you know they didn’t. Door Pounders develop into Door Openers unless you have rigged a system that would stump Houdini, in which case they may turn into Door Knocker Downers.
Guards. Such cows will not come into the parlor of their own volition. But they will stand mulishly in the open door and butt away other more timid cows who do want to come in.
Lingerers. Lingerers can take it or leave it alone. If you have an hour to spare, they may finally make up their minds to saunter in of their own free will.
Outlaws. In nearly every herd there will be a few cows who never come into the parlor unless forced. An excellent way to cull cows, without keeping records is to start be getting rid of the outlaws.
For those of us who think a milking parlor is still the best way to get the job done, I suggest this sort of information be furnished when a cow is sold to a dairyman: She should be typed according to parlor manners. Chargers of two or three years standing should bring premium prices. A known Lingerer should sell below par in the parlor milking market. And a cow with a long record of outlawism should be placed in a category just a shade higher than canners and cutters. End

WONDERFUL STORY...........THANKS FOR SHARING IT WITH US, BROUGHT BACK SOME MEMORIES WHEN I LIVED ON THE FARM WITH MY GRANDPARENTS.I WAS HORRIBLE AT MILKING THE COWS

I remember when I was in highschool. Dark below zero mornings, walking up to the milking barn and the cow would be there waiting for her grain. I'd tie down her tail, clean the udder and get situated on the milking stool. Bump her udder a few times to let her know to let down milk. I would press my forehead into her warm flank and with the first squirts of the hot milk zinging in the bottom of the pail, my audience of barn cats would come and perch between the wall studs, prim as Egyptian statues waiting for me to direct a squirt of milk into the faces. Those were moments of true peace.

It's a terrific article! Love to start the day with a laugh.

Great story. I remember many of those times in the " barn". Our cows all had names and knew their places in the barn. No matter how they came into the barn they went into their proper place. Very nice times to remember, I always helped my Dad with the outside work.

Thank you Gene for the great memories of your dear Mom and growing up on a farm. Although I was raised in a small town..I did get to go to farms and stay with friends. I can remember the smell of fresh butter while my friends mom was frying eggs. I tried to milk a cow but was not very good.