Vale Mr Moo

This blog's flag has been lowered to half mast.  Black crepe adorns the walls and the wails of hired mourners fill the air.  My fingers tremble as I type and the screen blurs as I try see it with eyes filled with tears.  Truly terrible news has reached me from our frozen south and suddenly I curse the efficiency of my Belarusian tech support who have so swiftly brought these grim tidings to me (along with a life time supply of generic brand Viagra and what looks suspiciously like weaponised smallpox).  Mr Moo that cow among cows is no more and for those who are left behind there is nothing to do but weep (and possibly, eat). 

According to this blog's bovine bereavement reporter the end was mercifully quick.  A gathering of cattle (at least he was among friends), a quick trip to the abattoir (at least he got a truck ride) and then a gentle departure full of grace and dignity (ok I can't prove that bit but its what my reporter is telling her daughters so its good enough for me).  The daughters, my mini reporters for all things cow, arrived at their grandparents farm to find a staggering absence of cows.  The Mr Moo shaped hole in the landscape was conspicuous indeed.  Tremblingly they questioned their grandparents about the lack of cows.  Their sharp eyed interrogation rapidly elicited the truth.  For the record I believe the response was something like,

"The cows?  Yeah we killed 'em.  What do you want for dinner?"

Farewell Mr Moo you were great among your kind.  Admittedly your kind were cows so the bar was set pretty low but nevertheless you were great.  While other cows followed the herd you stood aside.  Granted it didn't do you any good in the long run but what times you had while you were here.  Chasing off those who tried to get you across the road, standing around eating, lying under trees, more standing around eating.  Your life was a rich tapestry of standing around eating with occasional bursts of something else. 

Along the way you provided a ridiculous amount of material for a ridiculous blog.  You saw seasons (and other cattle) come and go and for a brief moment you must have seemed immortal to those who aren't used to seeing the same cow for more than a few months.  You befriended (or at least tolerated, or at the very least, didn't actively kill) small humans and smaller dogs without stepping on or attempting to eat either.

Finally when the time came you faced it with the courage and acceptance that only the knowledge of a life well and truly lived can give (again I can't prove this but its my blog so, sod off) an example to cows throughout the ages.  The only thing extra that you could have done is develop opposable thumbs and sweep the human plague from the surface of the earth.  Thanks for not doing that, I'm sure it was tempting at times.

 The blog pipers are blowing a soulful dirge and the mourners have reached the self flagellation and dust in the hair stage.  Their grief is no more real for being purchased.  As for me I will remember you every time I eat a steak.

OK, who's up for McDonalds?