Back awhile, when I lived in Maine, I used to stop by a small dairy farm for fresh milk. You went into the barn by yourself, whatever the hour, and filled your jug from a central tank. It was your responsibility to hose down the works when you finished. The farmer trusted you to put your money in the can on the shelf.
One winter's night, I slid open the barn door and found the cows inside all listening to John Coltrane on the local NPR affiliate. With a nod to the Jazz Cows video I never made or sent to MTV, here's @MarilynM's Gospel Squirrel.