Three months in rural Australia: Betsy the pet cow

Cow at the door

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.

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