My Dad bought a 200-acre farm the year I was born, and I can remember going out to the milking area, as a little boy, and craning my head 'til my mouth was directly under the spigot of the molasses barrel, then twisting the handle.
You had to be mindful of what season it was, though. Summertime, it would POUR out in a fast stream. But, come wintertime, your neck would begin to hurt by the time you got a taste. Mmm-m-m! Molasses!
Hmphh!! Country kids. What did we know? Or care. We'd break off hunks of the salt blocks in the cow pasture and suck on them. Mmm-m-m! Salt!
Many a nights, my Dad would bring in a pail of fresh, warm milk (straight from the teat) and we'd sit with him (my Dad) and have warm milk & Graham crackers. Now, THAT can't be healthy, right?
Mmm-m-m! Teat! Uh-h-h! I mean, Mmm-m-m! Warm milk!
"Watch where 'yer stepping, folks! I think my plastic teeth fell out on the floor!"