Baby calves and kid goats make me happy

I didn't grow up on a farm, but when I was younger the area I grew up in had quite a few real farms and ranches. There aren't many of those around now that Californians are leaving their quagmire of economic hell to cheaper pastures and snatching up McMansions by the dozen--so they can show little Johnny and little Suzy what a cow looks like. On top of all that we get the indignity of being told that we are backward hicks with no sense whatsoever and that our state should become more like the state that they had to move away from. It's awesome.

I like many Californians. Heck, I'm related to a whole bunch of them. It is one of those most awesome things that I get to participate in: family get togethers. I think all of the ones that involved the Californian branch of my mother's family consisted of me being acknowledged superficially, then ignored for three awkward hours. I'll say it again: It's awesome. At least my dad's side of the family have the social grace to say that they think I'm a loser to my face, then proceed to make fun of everything I do and that I'm a pussy. Hey, I can't help the fact that I haven't had the opportunity to kill a man, legally.

I think this post promised farm animals. Sorry.

Anyway, when I was a lad I had a paper route. Part of that route took me into farmland. It was there that I discovered the joy of baby cow season. I wasn't a happy kid. These baby cows took that unhappiness away from me for a brief moment. There is nothing more cute in this world than a baby cow. Puppies don't even come close, in my humble opinion. I think it is because you know what kind of fate a baby cow has that makes you appreciate that short moment it has of finding life fun and brand new. Let's face it: nobody's lining up to play Frisbee with flossy, other than to throw parts of her onto the grill.

So, today, I was not feeling particularly great. It has been a while since I've been truly depressed, thanks to my friends at the Pfizer corporation. But today was beyond chemical help. I needed more: Baby cow therapy. Hey, I've used a lot of colons in this post so far! High five!

I headed off to the county behind the mountains that divide where I live from Marlboro country. When I got there I was received with plenty of friendly waves from total strangers. My truck may not be a shit-kicker delight, but it gets the nod due to its vintage. After the welcoming committee, I went up a valley where the baby cows, kids, and the occasional juvenile alpaca roam. I parked my truck and stared lovingly at the jumping, kicking baby cows like a pervert watching moms at a playground. Well, I wasn't planning anything like that--I'm not a sicko. Let me rephrase that whole thing: I was not getting off on them; just that I made the mother cows feel a bit uncomfortable with my "hamburger" eyes.

When I started feeling better, I started to think happy, ponderous thoughts. I wondered to myself, just at what point do cows become boring? I haven't seen adult cows do much of anything noteworthy, other than feed an overfed nation. I mean, no cow has ever invented anything useful. I'm pretty sure a dog or a monkey has.

Wait...

New. Foul. Odors. Yes, cows have done remarkable things.

End post.