I loathe my nearest neighbors. Some day I'll go into a full and proper psycho rant about why I would like them all chemically castrated for at least 3 generations to prevent their boorish dumbassery from further polluting the world.
They keep cattle. Fine. They have acreage; it's the country; I don't care what you decide to raise. But for the love of god, at least maintain your fences so they stay in.
Every year there are numerous escapes. As a kid, this would amuse me. Watching three or four paunchy guys running after a cow or cows trying to herd them back in? Fun fun stuff if you're 10. Twenty-odd years later? Not so much fun.
The first bovine gulag escape of 2007 is today. I've got this shit spattered black cow roaming my property. And there's no sign of its mouth-breathing throwback owners anywhere. I've tried to call, no answer. No sign of them or anyone at their place. I wonder how long I'm gonna have a displaced cow?
I'm betting they don't get around to capturing it til Wednesday; of course, by then it could be joined by a few of its revolutionary brothers and sisters in a brief taste of freedom.
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4 comments:
I doubt it's any consolation, but "shit pattered and mouth breathing" - easily my favorite read today.
spattered, I meant to say.
Actually it's more of a consolation than you know.
i was laughing so hard over the 'how long am i gonna have a displaced cow?' line.
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