On some days I wish I were a cow. Not a big fat lady but a real cow. There is a tribe of Belted Galloways living in our neighborhood just about one mile from my house, and I drive by them daily. Seeing them always brightens my mood, especially on gloomy afternoons when their broad white middles exude a festive DayGlo quality.
There are about twenty-five of them, give or take a few, and they are always hanging out together, eating or sleeping in the sun. When it rains they congregate under the nearby trees. Recently they welcomed about seven or eight babies, who are of course too cute for words. Tourists, and even the local residents, are forever pulling over to the side of the road to take their picture.
Sadly we must assume they are not all that bright, which is why most of them end up as hamburgers. I try not to think of this, but according to Wikipedia, "Belted Galloways are primarily raised for their quality marbled beef,
although they are sometimes milked and purchased to adorn pastures due
to their striking appearance."
I'm hoping my neighbors fall into the latter category.
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