[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]esterday, I was driving on a rough gravel road, it liked to have rattled my truck to bits and pieces, like sledding down a washboard. That’s when I saw the three little cows moving lazily across the road in front of me.
I stopped my truck to let them cross, but they had other plans. Instead they walked around in circles in the middle of the road, like they were mingling at a cocktail party. I think they were fascinated with a plastic bag that was laying in the dirt.
One little cow moseyed up to the window of my truck. He looked at me with cheerful, knowing eyes. I was taken off guard, so I smiled back at him awkwardly. I followed my inner child, and carefully extended my hand.
He sniffed my hand and let me rub his satin-like head.
Later that night at the restaurant, instead of ordering a burger, I ordered the pork.
“What makes a pig any different than a cow?” my wife demanded.
“Simple,” I said, holding up my hand. “They have split hooves.”