Holy Cow

25 YOU HAD ME AT SHALOM

“A cow, a pig, and a turkey walk into a bar…” is what the wolf said. His white teeth had an unsettling way of catching the moonlight. “Isn’t that a joke?” he asked.

“I don’t know that one,” Shalom answered. “It’s not in the Torah.”

“I hate jokes, they contain latent hostility,” offered Tom.

“Yeah, sure,” said the wolf. “I don’t quite remember the punch line… A cow, a turkey, and a pig walk into a bar, and the bartender says… uhh, wait, I remember… the bartender says, ‘Dinner’s here!’”

“That joke doesn’t even make sense,” Tom said. I could hear his beak clicking because all the moisture in there had dried up in fear. I was sure everyone could hear my legs shaking, my knees actually knocking against each other. “I love that joke,” said the wolf, “it’s my favorite joke of all. Listen, I can see you all are far from home and out of place, and I have some sympathy for that, as much sympathy as a wolf can have, which is not very much, and I’m not so very hungry, so why don’t you, cow, and you, pig, just keep walking and let me discuss tonight’s specials with that turkey over there?”

Tom looked faint. I jumped in. “We’re on the lam from the farm. I’m going to India, Shalom is going to Israel, and the turkey is going to Turkey. It’s a historic journey.”

“Wait a second.” The wolf held up a paw to stop me. I could see that he was salivating, the liquid running down in thick rivulets from his jowls. He looked at the pig formerly known as Jerry. “You, pig, your name is Shalom?”

“Yes.”

“Funny. You don’t look Jewish,” said the wolf, and he collapsed in a laughter that segued into a horrible series of howls. For all we knew, he was calling his buddies to dinner in wolfspeak. “I’m actually Jewish on my dad’s side, changed the name from Wolfsheim to Wolf when we came down from Canada. But you’re outta luck ’cause I’m one of those self-loathing wolves.”

Shalom couldn’t take it. He pointed at Tom. “He’s got white meat!” Tom pointed back at Shalom. “He’s the other white meat!”

This was going to hell in a handbasket quickly, we were already turning on one another. I knew I had to think fast.

“Look, wolf,” I said, trying to sound as tough as I could (all of a sudden I had a New York accent), “we are all animals here, maybe some are a little wilder than others, it’s true, but we are all brothers and sisters who have been wronged by human beings-we have been kept and fattened only to be slaughtered, and you, you get shot at and have your traditional hunting grounds unfairly encroached upon by the Man.”

I could feel the moment lending me a kind of eloquence. “And if we fight amongst ourselves, then who wins?”

“Me?” the wolf replied. “I would win a fight against you.”

“No. Humans win, our common enemy.”

“Oh, oh, oh, I see what you mean.” The wolf nodded. “Yeah, common enemy.” Maybe there was hope, but the wolf continued, “I’m not really political. I’ll just take the turkey.”

He started toward Tom with that slinky low wolf slide, his eyes beady and merciless. I could see Tom’s terrified face lit up from the light of the phone, his wattle quivering in the night.

Out of nowhere, a flash of pink strobed the darkness, and the wolf went tumbling sideways as if he’d been yanked by an invisible hand, letting out a pathetic little whimper. WTF?

Shalom had taken a running start and thrown his entire body weight against the wolf. And Shalom is a fat dude. He’s a pig. The wolf was dazed, momentarily off balance, but I could see the pure animal power and need returning to his eyes.

“Okay, for that little move, fatty, you have just become dessert. Every American’s fantasy-pork chops and bacon for dessert.” The wolf was regaining the wind that had been knocked out of him by Shalom’s body block. I knew I only had seconds, so I rushed forward and started stomping on the wolf as best I could. I’m not fast, but I am strong and heavy, and I could feel once or twice something soft and squishy flatten beneath me.

“Out of nowhere, a flash of pink strobed the darkness.”

Now the wolf was howling in pain. I was pretty sure I’d broken a paw or two, if not a leg. He limped off and became one with the darkness from whence he came. I was snorting breath like a bull, when out of the dark, the wolf’s voice came again, a lingering threat. “I’ll be back, folks, I’ll be back with my pack.”

With the wolf hobbled, Tom finally recovered his courage and gobbled out, “Bring it on, son, you just got your ass handed to you by a milk cow! This little piggy just made you his maccabeeyotch! Go ahead, bring your friends, we’ll tell them you got owned by a proud turkey, a fat little pig, and a moo-cow! Boo-ya!”