These were not the average "contented" cows. They were cows born for trouble. They were not cows who could stand by and let people call them "bossy." They were cows who could not hang around all day lowing. They were cows who could be just as happy chewing someone else's cud as their own. These were renegade cows.
By Steve Martin © Warner Bros.
My first experience with the renegade cows began one day as I was admiring a particularly attractive cow at Johnson's Weed Farm. As I stood there watching her sultry body moving lithely through the rushes, I noticed several other cows staring at me through the weeds, giving me that look that only a cow can give.
Later that night, I was at home thinking over the day's events. The Rubber Duck Throwing Contest, the parade that followed: bands and floats and baton-tossing girls all marching down the middle of the Missouri River. I should have been analyzing the glare of those cows I'd seen earlier that day.
The doorbell rang. I opened the door, glad to have a visitor, but found myself face to face with three renegade cows. I could not see their eyes behind the dark glasses.
They ambled in and I did not try to stop them.
That night they just stood around my bed and watched me sleep, much the same way my potatoes do, and I guess you might say I learned my lesson: Don't fool with renegade cows.
-note: Thank you to Linda Lindsey (Lair), my high school sweetheart and ex-wife. iwalyimh
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