I like to talk for our animals. I know precisely what they’re saying. It’s a gift. So, I tend to take it upon myself to make sure their voice is heard around here.
“Hello there.You’re a face I’m not used to seeing out here. Hey, how about this warmer weather? Nice, huh? Look, I’ll cut to the chase. I know the farmer is feeding bottles right now and I realize that I’m a little old for that, but could I trouble you to–“
“Dadgum it, Ethel! I was trying to win her over with my charming -innocent-cute face- pose!!
“Get back in there!! This is my turf! You better check yourself before I wreck you with my horn nubbins, you obnoxious foghorn! Know your place, woman!”
Wow…the niceties literally went out the window. Note to self–49 has a temper!
I think I’ll just turn around and talk to a baby.
Hey, little guy!
“You got a bottle?”
Um, well…no, but it actually appears you’ve already had your breakfast.
“What if I stretch my neck just a leeeetle longer?”
Nope, sorry, buddy.
“You’re dead to me.”
Oh, it looks like we have a new ringleader at the window.
“Yeah, you know what they say…50 is the new 49.”
I’m sensing a bovine hierarchy around here.
“I’m gonna try this move one more time. No? Still not getting a bottle? (Sigh) Those were the good old days.”
“Mmmm, 50, I just LOVE that new perfume you’re wearing. What did you call it again? Dolce and Gabarna?”
I tell ya, rarely a dull moment. This country air sure is good for a person’s sanity.