Life and death: ranch style

Yesterday morning our smallest cow, "Gimpy," died. He was really my sister's cow, but mine too. When we saw him dying Saturday afternoon, it was a fairly solemn moment. We sulked, individually for a few minutes, squabbled a little bit, and then moved on. We're fairly used to losing animals, though it was depressing losing a cow that we had poured so much time and energy into. Today we buried him. We drove out on the tractor to the way back pasture with Gimpy's body in the tractor scoop (we were riding in the back and my dad drove). Once out there, my dad began digging a hole and my sister and I, still on the back of the tractor, cold and wet, began to spontaneously hold a funeral service. It was perhaps less solemn than a typical funeral. We hummed what we thought was a military tune - upon consultation with chicken mommy later we determined it was actually "Pomp and Circumstance." Then lil'bit held up her hand. "I will give a speech."

"Gimpy was a good cow. and a faithful friend. And now I will quote a verse." She cleared her throat and solemnly waved her hat around. "Thou shalt eat of any animal with a split hoof who chews his cud. Of these are the cow, the sheep, and the llama. This does not include the bat."

Then we sang silent night mooing instead of singing the words.

The funeral concluded with my little sister remarking thoughtfully that, "It's too bad we couldn't eat him."