The Worst Valentine’s Date Ever

Published February 20, 2007

By Robert Booz

Damn, that was one fine heifer!

It wasn’t that we didn’t have cattle where I grew up, we did. In fact, everywhere I’ve lived my life, in the Midwest and New England, has been dotted with cattle. Perhaps, in passing, I had a hot flash or two, but nothing like the unadulterated cow-stalking infatuation of my years in Vermont.

Much to my disappointment, my feelings have been left unresolved with me gazing longingly at fence lines. I even resorted to the “ I Spy” section of Seven Days, maybe you saw it: Me, tall blonde in handsome attire lost in your big brown eyes. You: udderly fantastic-looking stout brunette ( Jersey?) in the pasture at Shelburne Farms. Call me for a milking.

I thought that perhaps I was doomed to unrequited cow-love. But I was wrong. It was in the Northeast Kingdom I first met Ike Snopes, the man who would make my Valentine’s Day wish come true.

He had seen my “ I Spy” and said he could do something about it. He asked me if a Holstein would do: “She won’t be no heifer, guy, but my Bessie she’ll do you right ’nuff.” And with a wink the deal was set.

And so I’m here sitting across from her at Smokejacks. She’s a real beauty, no heifer to be sure, but a Grade A choice cow nonetheless. I’m looking into her deep brown saucer eyes as she silently chews away at her cud. I’m rubbing my foot against her hoof and she smiles sometimes between chews.

About five minutes ago, Bessie asked me if I could swat the flies away from her so she could save her energy for later. It was all I could do to moo in agreement.

The waitress comes over and pours her some more water before setting down a block of salt in front of her and a burger in front of me.

“Oh my God, I didn’t order this,” I say, pushing it away in disgust. But, Bessie is already up and glaring at me. “Who did this?” I yell at the already-bewildered waitress.

She points sheepishly toward the corner of the restaurant. I see that old ewe sulking in the corner. “Irene you dumb sheep, I told you it was over,” I sob.

But she dismisses me with an easy and calculated “bah,” and Bessie wags her lovely ass out the door. Another Valentine’s Day alone.

Print This Article

Comments