Holy Cow

3 THE EVENT

(Actually, the Pre-Event)

Sure enough, the time came and I seized it. The eldest was milking me. Roughly, I might add. Look, this isn’t a gossipy tell-all; I’m not here to grind axes and settle scores, but sometimes I just gotta calls ’em likes I sees ’em. The brother was rough on the teats. Plus, he’s got like the thumb of one hand distractedly on his phone the whole time he’s manhandling me. Since then, I have come to learn this is called “texting,” and it’s a way for people to tell one another stupid things about their day. Oh look, here’s a picture of my lunch with an oh-so-witty caption. Oh look, here’s a picture of me making a silly face, and another picture of a different face. Selfies, they call ’em, and that makes sense ’cause even though they’re sending these pictures to others, it still smells like selfish to me. Is that why they call it an “I phone”? ’Cause it’s all about me me me. Like talking to hear yourself talk. Why don’t they just communicate in person like normal animals? There’s much about people I do not understand.

So there he is, texting away and taking a picture of me and laughing and pressing SEND, and I didn’t really appreciate that, so at the perfect moment I just kind of kicked with my right hind leg, not hard to hurt the boy, just hard enough to make him drop his phone.

But first, to set the stage, I had to poop. Pooping while you’re getting milked is one of life’s great pleasures. You should try it sometime. So I pooped, kicked a little, and he dropped his phone right into what you all call a cow patty. Now I know you think cow patties are gross or a source of humor, but to us, they just are. Another thing about humans I don’t quite get is how disgusted they are with poop, even their own. They can’t get away from it fast enough, and whenever they step in ours, they curse and try to get it off their boots really fast. Plus, they think poop is totally funny. Like it’s the setup of all these jokes they tell one another. I don’t get it, man, it’s just poop. Poop and farts. What? That make you uncomfortable? That’s your problem, Cochise. We all do it. We all do it lots. No big deal. Poopy poop poop fart farty fart fartalicious poopiosity etc.-got it out of your system? And stop blaming me and my gas for global warming. I can’t drive a car. Can we move on now?

His phone goes ploop-right into the poop. Ever seen a cow laugh? No, ’cause we do it in private, like Japanese women. I turned away and started laughing, but I kinda faked like I had something in my throat and was coughing. He was pissed! Actually slapped me on the rump. Didn’t hurt. You people are small and weak. And then he has to dig his precious phone out of my poop. You think people don’t like stepping in poop, man oh man, do they not like getting their hands anywhere near it even more! But he has to. ’Cause it’s his phone. If he dropped his phone into a shark’s mouth, he’d go in there to retrieve it. Or a volcano. It’s like the most important thing in the world.

So his phone is like a quarter of the way in my poop. Standing up straight, like it’s surprised to be there. And the boy has to deal with it. He gets down there, and ever so gingerly, like a pimply King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, he rescues his phone. And then he wipes it on me ’cause he’s mad. Like he’s punishing me. What do I care? It’s my poop. He starts muttering under his breath, grabs the pail of my milk, and stomps out of the barn. And guess what? He forgets to shut the gate.:) Doesn’t that mean “smiley face” when you text? Well, here I am, smiling. I wish there were a cow face smiling, but there isn’t a way to make it on the keyboard.:(

Yet.:)