Poor, Poor Cow

There's a lot of disturbing stuff out in the world. For example, skinny jeans for men.

Generally speaking, I insulate myself from unsettling stuff. Avoidance is key here, people. I don't like to eat unpleasant foods, like peas, so I avoid them. I don't like listening to the song 'Thriller' after dark while alone in the car, so I avoid it by switching to a different radio station. And I don't like to watch disturbing TV or movies. Okay. Prior to agreeing to watch the movies on my Must See list, I avoided viewing the distressing stuff. Quite successfully, too, given the length of my movie list had it not been mercifully stopped at twenty titles.

The point I'm making here is that I don't like my mellow harshed and it has been harshed the last several days every time I got in the car. Seriously and unequivocally harshed. And it's all because of a cow.

The cow is dead, so she can hardly be blamed. It's the dead cow owner's fault really.

How do I know the cow is dead? The clues are there and I will now present them to you. This cow has been laying on her side, unmoving, for two days. Today, Miss Bovine is covered with what appears to be a bright blue FEMA tarp. Well, all but her legs are covered. Her legs are poking out from underneath the tarp.

The tarp covered cow has been in the field for four days. Those are the clues that led me to believe that Clarabelle has ceased to be amongst the living. 

At this point, I know you're impressed with my astute detecting skills.

A dead cow doesn't really bother me much and that's not what is disturbing me. What is currently making my skirt fly up is the fact that there's a tarp covered cow a scant mile from my house and she's been there for almost a week.

I don't know the protocol on dead cow removal, but it seems to me that it should be taken care of within a day or two. The longer Daisy lays there, the more upset I get. And my displeasure is nothing compared to that of the other cows in the field.

Those cows are messed up.

Usually they give Bessie a wide berth, but occasionally you'll see one walk right up to her, scratch at the tarp, and very reverently bow her head. Sometimes the other cow will softly moo. I'm not fluent in cow speak, but I believe that what she's mooing is a heartfelt goodbye. It's quite touching and lovely when you think about it.

You know what? I think Elsie would have loved it, had she not been sticking out from underneath a bright blue tarp, of course.

As for me? Well, I find the whole thing disturbing.

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