Monday, 8 November 2010

In which I float and am cowed at.

A Frisian Holstein cow in the Netherlands: Int...Image via Wikipedia
Outside, it was still raining. My house, badly built and with floats instead of foundations, had gently lifted itself onto the rising flood waters outside, caressed their gentle waves, and deposited itself in the middle of a field of cows. Kevin, being a snail, had set off to forage for supplies, and I had stayed to make sure no bovines stole the house. Such is the natural order.
 "Mooo. I say, old fellow. Moo."
I turned slowly to look at the cow standing near me. A bowler hat rested on his head at a rakish angle, black make-up around one eye, all in white. He looked like Alex, minus the droogs, but he talked slowly and with purpose, like Gregory Peck.
 "I wonder, friend. Could you perhaps..."
 "Look." I cut in. "I've already got one anthropomorphic animal in my life right now, I don't need another. Are you going to commit violent crimes towards me?"
 "No." The cow replied. He hung his head in shame, and I did likewise. After a few minutes, we began to back off, not meeting the other's eye. I retreated into my hallway, and hid behind the umbrella stand. I felt safe there.
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Doug Stephens said...

Cows never ADMIT to planning violent crimes. But you just can't rust them.

Paul Blanchard said...

I know what I mean. I always ask them if they're up to something, but barring this case, they seldom reply.

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