Last night, through the marvel that is the overland telegraph, I had a chat with the kid. I told him I thought I might have a pet cow. “I feel like whether a person has a pet cow or not is a thing they would know for sure one way or the other,”” he replies.
I clarify. “She’s always here but she’s not mine, yesterday I found her lying on the lawn like a giant dog.” He interrupts, “Mum?”.
“Yeah?”, I reply.
“You have a pet cow.”
I’ve named her Betsy. Cynthia hopes she calves soon so she stays with the herd. I hope she doesn’t so I get to keep her a while longer.