A Happy Cow Story on Cow Appreciation Day
Aren’t you tired of reading about wars and politics?
How A City Girl Found Joy in Morning Milking
The “Spark” of a Dream
I did not grow up on a farm. The first time I remember seeing a cow up close I was 6 years old. We lived on the only paved street in a tiny town that was surrounded by farmland, east of Atlanta, Georgia.
I could walk to the end of my long street, turn right on a dirt road, go around a slight curve, and come to a tidy little house sitting in a small pasture. This idyllic little cottage belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Pate. Mr. Pate always wore overalls, and Mrs. Pate always wore a flowered apron.
In their pasture lived a caramel brown cow with long eyelashes and an udder full of milk. She had a bell around her neck which rang every time she walked. I adored that bell.
She looked at me with her big eyes, but she was not very concerned about a little barefoot girl who wanted her to come closer so she could pet her. She chewed her cud placidly, refusing to come over to the fence to inspect the handful of grass I was holding out for her.
Because she would not come closer to me, I thought I would get closer to her by standing on the…
