I have a wonderful backroad, countryside commute to work. This morning was stunning with bright blue skies and streaming sunshine. Living in the humidity-filled South, I always appreciate the snap of crystal air. My commute began around 7:30 a.m. and around 7:45 a.m., I delved into the land of the clearly-not-in-her-right-mind.
Rounding a bend, I glanced to the right, and what do I see? A poor, pitiful newborn calf all alone. I mean ALL ALONE, people. His mother apparently needed to have the animal version of DFCS called on her. She needed an immediate smack down. As an advocate of all creatures great and small (thank you, James Harriett), I pulled over.
What on earth did I think I could do? I glanced down at my feet. 
Clearly, I had not donned the appropriate footwear for traipsing here:
I did what every other right minded animal activist would do. I got out of my car and opened the trunk. Much to my dismay, I apparently did not have a stray pair of sneakers hidden beneath the piles of reusable shopping bags.
With a sigh, I glanced at the tiny little creature abandoned by its hideous mother. It truly wasn't so tiny. In fact, even if I still owned my gas-guzzling Expedition, this poor baby would probably not fit. About this time, a soft breeze ruffled my perfectly coiffed work-do, and on that soft breeze, an undertone of eau-de-manure assaulted my senses.
An image played around in my head. What if I managed to shove this little forgotten piece of steak into my sporty, leather adorned Fusion? Would I be cow stealing? I searched the horizon for any sight of a barn, farm, tractor, man, woman, missing she-bitch-of-a-mother. Nothing. Nada. Nunca.
Reality dawned. Here I was, standing in knee high weeds, in heels and a skirt, contemplating shoving a 150 pound calf into the back seat of my car. I imagined making it a quarter-mile up the road before the blue lights of a sheriff's car pulled me over and arrested me for cow stealing. I imagined having to call work and explain that I needed to be bailed out of jail for cow stealing. I imagined having to call my husband and explain why the back seat of my beloved car was shredded and scented like a milk barn because of cow stealing.
I apologized to Mignon (yes, in all this imagining I named him) and prayed his mother would return. I then continued my commute to work. I ask, though, if faced with this:
Would you, too, not be tempted to turn into a bovine's superhero?
Clearly, I had not donned the appropriate footwear for traipsing here:
I did what every other right minded animal activist would do. I got out of my car and opened the trunk. Much to my dismay, I apparently did not have a stray pair of sneakers hidden beneath the piles of reusable shopping bags.
With a sigh, I glanced at the tiny little creature abandoned by its hideous mother. It truly wasn't so tiny. In fact, even if I still owned my gas-guzzling Expedition, this poor baby would probably not fit. About this time, a soft breeze ruffled my perfectly coiffed work-do, and on that soft breeze, an undertone of eau-de-manure assaulted my senses.
An image played around in my head. What if I managed to shove this little forgotten piece of steak into my sporty, leather adorned Fusion? Would I be cow stealing? I searched the horizon for any sight of a barn, farm, tractor, man, woman, missing she-bitch-of-a-mother. Nothing. Nada. Nunca.
Reality dawned. Here I was, standing in knee high weeds, in heels and a skirt, contemplating shoving a 150 pound calf into the back seat of my car. I imagined making it a quarter-mile up the road before the blue lights of a sheriff's car pulled me over and arrested me for cow stealing. I imagined having to call work and explain that I needed to be bailed out of jail for cow stealing. I imagined having to call my husband and explain why the back seat of my beloved car was shredded and scented like a milk barn because of cow stealing.
I apologized to Mignon (yes, in all this imagining I named him) and prayed his mother would return. I then continued my commute to work. I ask, though, if faced with this:
Would you, too, not be tempted to turn into a bovine's superhero?
