Hey Cow

While driving from Plainview to Albuquerque, I discovered a dream I never knew I had. The thought came to me unbidden, but grew to an obsession within minutes. I knew I must--must--get my picture taken next to a cow.

I suppose it comes from years of mooing out the window, or playing "Hey Cow", or maybe from the that dairy commercial where the cows say cheese and the parents think their baby spoke her first word. I don't know the genesis of the idea; I only know that I had to stand next to a steak on legs.

Just outside Hereford, Texas, Angela whipped the car around and turned into a dairy farm. "We," she said, "are going to get you near your cow." Hallelujah! Angela convinced the nice young cowboy to abandon his work to guide three strangers around the--what would you call it? Milk Ranch? Lactose Processing Plant? Utter-to-Butter Farm? Whatever. So Jason the Cowboy took us in the back to watch the cows milked by huge machines. He answered our questions, rather than laugh at them like they deserved. We cheered as one group left and another marched neatly into place to be milked. He showed us the pipes that moved the milk into a cooling machine, then into storage tanks to wait for shipment. The whole thing reminded me of those mini-documentaries on Sesame Street. I always loved those things. Afterward, we traipsed outside (in flip flops) to get close to the cows. We saw one giving birth, and a young calf surrounded by adults. We got to pet some heifers, which Jason the Cowboy explained are cows who haven't had their first calf yet. Then, to top it all, we got our pictures taken with beautiful black and white cows (just like the commercial) who then slimed us with gross animal spit. It was fantastic. It exceeded my (very briefly held) dream and was better than even the most rigorous game of "Hey Cow". You just can't beat that.