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That's right.

I was in love with a cow.

But she was no ordinary cow. She gave off this aura... this scent, that seemed to say "Talk to me. Say whatever you want. Hurt me, if you wish. Carrass me, smash my brains in. No matter what you say or do, I will always reply with a moo." And that's just what I did.

When I felt sad, I talked to her.

"Moo" she used to say.

When I felt angry, I'd beat her.

"Moo"

When I felt amorous, I'd use her.

"Moo"

When I felt loving, I'd carress her.

"Moo"

Then, one day, I guess I just went too far. I can't remember what it was. I guess the sun was shining to bright, and the heat was beating to hard, and the canoe was tipping over.

I had opened her gate. "Go ahead," I yelled. "Leave. I dare you to. Leave."

She looked at me with those shallacked eyes and walked out the gate. I stood aghast.

She'll come back, I told myself. And if not, I'll just have to go and beg on my hands and knees. I can handle that.

But I didn't see that semi barrelling down Route 506 at 90 kilometres per hour. I turned just in time to see my love spread over twenty feet of asphalt and gravel.

Since then, life has been nothing but an endurance contest against myself. I moo myself to sleep at night, and sometimes, when I'm just drunk and tired enough, I can imagine her standing beside me, chewing the cud and letting a bit of drool squirm down and land on my neck...