When I was growing up in the 1960s, our family had a milk man. I can remember Mr. Taylor’s bluish gray milk truck like it was yesterday. We had a silver insulated “milk porch box” on the back porch where Mr. Taylor would place the glass milk bottles with the silver foil caps.
Mr. Taylor was a friendly soul who loved dogs. He loved to play fetch with our German Shepherd, Koenig. On milk delivery days we’d leave Koenig’s red rubber ball on top of the trash can next to where he parked. We could always hear Mr. Taylor’s milk truck coming down the driveway and my mother would open the back door to let our tail-wagging and very eager Koenig out the back door. He couldn’t wait to see Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor would stand on the driveway and throw the ball way out to the backyard and Koenig would take off after it, retrieve it, and drop it at Mr. Taylor’s feet. Mr. Taylor and Koenig would play their fetch game just a few minutes until Mr. Taylor had to go on his way to his next delivery. Koenig loved Mr. Taylor and the feeling was mutual.
Koenig loved to ride in cars and one day he jumped into Mr. Taylor’s milk truck. So Mr. Taylor would occasionally allow Koenig to ride on his delivery route around the block and then he would drop him off back home. That was one happy dog and one happy milk man.
I miss those milk man days.