Tuesday, January 13, 2015


There's no graceful way to describe a dead cow morning. Yesterday, Gracie was hale and happy; today, she was dead. 

Gracie was a gentle, lovely young cow whose only vice was avarice. She was the first to get up for breakfast, whether hay or pasture, and if she could manage it, her breakfast would overlap lunch which would overrun supper! We can't say definitively but suspect that her portliness may have led to her demise. 

Speculations did nothing to stop tears from streaming down or knees from buckling into the snow. 

Before long, however, my favorite cow, Annabelle, planted two big, damp cow kisses on my already wet face. Annabelle so rarely dispenses smooches that I couldn't help but feel oddly comforted. 

"He is the Father of compassion, the God of all comfort." ~2 Corinthians 1:3 (VOICE)

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