“The mad cow has sustained an injury.” My husband’s voice is low and forlorn, and coming from somewhere behind my left shoulder.
Neither owning a cow nor being closely acquainted with anyone else’s cow, I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to care about this news. My husband must think it’s important, or he wouldn’t have taken the time to seek me out. Unless this has happened in our yard, I don’t see why I need to know this – but the sentence itself is intriguing.
The mad cow has sustained an injury. What an amazing opening line! I have so many questions: Whose cow is this? Is it angry-mad or insane-mad? How did it get injured? Why does my husband believe I need to know about it? Perhaps more importantly, where did it come from? We live in a crowded suburb near an airport – cows aren’t a normal sight within the city limits. In the near decade we’ve lived here, the neighborhood has reported several bear sightings but no cows.
Should we call animal control? Do they even have a vehicle large enough to transport a cow? Or would emergency services be a better option?
“Can you heal it, or is it permanently dead?”
The question brings my thoughts to a screeching halt. I glance over my shoulder to see husband’s hands extending in my direction. Carefully cradled between them is our dogdaughter’s favorite cow-shaped crinkle toy – she’d torn the stitches holding its head onto its body.
