My Cows

They are not Belted Galloways or any breed of note, however they have been with me for years as the rust plainly testifies. They are cast iron, oddly enough, made in Banff, Canada and each weighs a ton! Each spring I have moved them from their winter quarters towards the sunlight in a rough line heading lawnward. They often take a circuitous route through some Spanish bluebells or Hellebores, pausing beneath white bleeding hearts barely skirting peeping Oxalis adenophylla leaves newly emerging. Then at night, they wend their way back lest an evening guest tumble over them impaled by legs and ears. I have loved these guys greatly. My neighbors move them about and create scenarios, sometimes obscene, but all in good fun.

There is one neighbor who particularly adores them, has written them a poem in fact :) And to him I am bequeathing my cows when I move as a nod to his friendship which has been outstandingly entertaining over the years and which I will miss. He owns planes and helicopters, race cars and yachts, but up until now, he has never rustled cows and he was genuinely thrilled when I asked him if he'd like them. He thought I was kidding and his eyes welled up when he realized I was not. I will miss them, but that fact is overshadowed by the joy I saw on his face as he registered his luck. Not everyone's cuppa, for sure, but it was lovely for me to be able to give something he deemed valuable to this man who has given me great laughter.