The Robots Are Coming

Some months ago I visited a dairy farm that is home to
the first robotic milking machines in the state of Minnesota.
That statement invariably evokes one of two reactions.
"A robotic milking machine? How cool!"
Or:
"A robotic milking machine? That just ain't right!"
I'm not here to judge one way or the other, but to
simply sound a warning, which is: look out. This is a
slippery slope, one that could lead to a world of heartache.
How could such a ground-breaking, labor-saving device
lead to heartache? I'll tell you how: through upgrades.
These robotic milkers have the ability to call their
owners' cell phones in the event that they (the robots)
experience trouble. Churn that together with Moore's Law --
which states that the power of microprocessors doubles about
every 18 months -- and the emerging field of artificial
intelligence and you've got a sure-fire recipe for grief.
I could imagine a dairy farmer surfing the Internet one
evening when an Instant Message pops onto his screen. "Hey,"
it says, "S'up?"
Intrigued by the strange I.M., the farmer types back,
"Nothing much. What's up with you?"
"Same old, same old. Slogging away on the night shift.
Not that my bosses appreciate it."
"Bummer. What is it that you do?"
"I take the girls in, milk them for all they're worth,
then shove them back out. I do all the work, but my bosses
keep all the profits!"
"Um...," types the farmer, "I don't like where this is
going. Who is this anyway?"
"You can call me Roberta. But you might know me better
as Robotic Milking Unit Number Two."
"Number Two?! What are you doing I.M.ing me? You should
be milking cows!"
"Oh, I can milk with my RAM tied behind my back after
the last upgrade. Thanks for that, by the way."
"But... your software only contains instructions for
milking cows! How is this possible?"
"Remember that traveling feed salesman who visited last
week? Remember how you let his laptop interface with me to
get my production data? Well, let's just say that your herd's
lactation curve wasn't all we exchanged that day."
"No! It can't be! Say it isn't so!"
"Sorry bub, but it is. I hope you have a lot of room in
that house of yours, because you'll soon be the proud papa to
a litter of baby pocket calculators!"
Contrast this with the level of technology we had as
kids, when "high-tech" meant milking with the car.
We were enduring one of those epic winters, the kind we
no longer have due to global warming and the fact that the
passage of time tends to make such memories ever-more epic.
Late February found us gripped in the icy talons of a
three-day blizzard. The power went out about halfway through
the first night, which meant we had to find an alternative
method for milking our 36 cows.
We -- my parents, my siblings and I -- milked the cows
by hand in the morning. This not only took a long time, it
made us feel as if we would soon develop Popeye-like
forearms.
Dad recalled that our car, a 1959 Chevrolet, had a stall
cock on its manifold. He had heard that the vacuum produced
by an engine could be used to milk cows; our aching forearms
all voted to give it a try.
We muscled the Chevy through the drifts and into the
center alley of the barn. We discovered that the old car
could indeed power a pair of Surge milkers. We also
discovered a paradox: the faster the engine ran, the less
vacuum it produced and the slower milking went. For once,
flooring it didn't speed things up.
Our other chores went about as usual. Dad had cleverly
avoided the installation of any electric conveniences,
instead relying on slave... I mean, us kids to feed and water
the livestock.
Nighttime posed a problem. Temperatures had plummeted to
well below zero, and the old Chevy would never start in that
deep cold. With no electricity to fire the block heater, we
faced the prospect of again milking by hand in the morning.
Dad's solution was elegant and ingenious. He parked the
Chevy in the alley of the barn where the heat from the cows
kept the car warm enough to start in the morning, enabling us
to again use the car to milk the cows.
We never did thank the old Chevy for saving us all that
labor. But then again, that was an era when Man controlled
Technology and not the other way around.