Cow

Oksona begins eating soon after she falls asleep. She begins chewing. Every so often a swallow then more chews. We've just made love so I'm left wide awake. I like this time. She falls asleep right away leaving me some time finally after a long day where i can think. I like to be alone like this. The lightening strikes light up the room showing her lips pursed before she swallows again in the dark. More often than not i don't really think at this time. Just sort of be. Watch the night move on. Listen to the freeway outside the window. Watch for the shadows of cats as they go about their nocturnal missives. Partly out of humor, partly interest, I lean over to ask her what she's eating. Sometimes she answers. Sometimes I even understand her. Last night I was lucky, when I asked her she replied clear as day. »Pie.« That just tickles me. Sometimes I feel really left out and lonely. When we were first married I felt an obligation to make love to her every night and this vacant space afterward with her chewing away beside me. I’d debate myself till dawn came on the merits of satisfying her versus getting some sleep myself. Seems I can't ever seem to sleep after sex. Don't know why, just can't. And sex just isn't as important to me as it is to her. She talks about the spiritual union we achieve, the religious intensity of it when it's good. To me it's an itch to be scratched. An itch that takes a lot of energy to scratch. Leaves me exhausted most the time. But strangely, wide awake.

So we were driving down to Washington DC over spring break to visit our friend Scott, who was doing an internship down there. We saw a cow or five hundred on the way, but I didn't think much of those black and white beasts till now. Do you think a cow could survive in the wild, if humans went extinct tomorrow? It's a retorical question, and the answer is no! So, do I worry when I eat a cow burger or drink milk? No. Without my kind, there wouldn't be any cow anywhere.

Two cows are grazing on their farmers field next to each other. Says one cow, »Hey, what do you think about mad cow disease?« Replies the other, »Why the hell would I care? I'm a tractor.«

I don't know but that I've never seen a purple cow.

Don't know about »cow« but a bull once attacked me in a field during a school outward bound course.
I always hated outward bound ... cold, wet, uncomfortable – I'd rather be curled up with a book.
Walking through a field of large white-and-black beasts, however quietly chewing, was not my idea of a good way to spend an afternoon.
When the bull started running from the other end of the field my classmates and I found a turn of speed I would never have realised I could achieve.
So I suppose I got something out of that encounter. I've always been much better at the sprint than any other sporting event.

cow vs non-cow. the very absence of cow. anti-cow. a hole in the world where the cow concept would be, if there were one.

not to be north-america-centric or anything, but in a cow-free nonbovine world, the answer to »got milk?« would be »no.« or »milk?«

unless of course someone thought to bring on the goat or the sheep, the mare or the camel or fer cryin out loud, the soybean.

i've seen cows when they're drunk. it's not a pretty sight.