There are many signs that all of us should never ignore. Stop signs. Signs of a major health issue. A sign telling you which way the restrooms are. One of the most important signs in particular is a sign telling you where to find donuts.
Mr. C. Cow has a particular nose that can sniff out a donut (or a sign stating there are donuts) from, at least, six miles away. Once, I swear this is true, he led me up and down multiple winding roads because he said there were donuts. He was correct. There were many donuts. I always thought that dogs had a better sense of smell then a cow. Sorry dogs.
I’ve never really tested my sense of smell, but, I do have a great sense of knowing when Mr. C. Cow is doing something he probably shouldn’t. When I used a sign informing me of where the restrooms were I sensed that he was overindulging in the desert department. After successfully returning from my sign following he was found with a pie and two crepes. After eating three donuts it was a bit much.
To distract Mr. C. Cow from eating all that and, possibly, a cookie he saw in a display case, I sent him off to do a bit of exploring. A distraction cleverly disguised as a scavenger hunt. Pretty smart huh? While he was safely away from getting a few of his stomachs in trouble I got to eat a crepe. Win win for both of us.
I wonder if Bishop has some weird coffee sense that tells him where coffee is at all times. He does have a sense to know when Mr. C. Cow is driving a bulldozer when he shouldn’t. It’s saved a few walls so it’s been tested. Marslean can probably sense when I’m punting paper footballs into the garbage can instead of doing office work when we’re at the shop. She always seems to catch me and give me this “disapproving head shake face things”. I guess all of us, in our own way, can sense something special.
I looked up how well a cow can smell just to see if he was really that good. According to this place called “the internet”, a cow can smell things up to six miles away. See! Mr. C. Cow wasn’t lying. Look it up!
Mr. C. Cow is off to theater camp this week. I was under the impression that he wanted to go to camp because they had an open juice bar for snacking but he swears that he’s all about acting.
I think that Mr. C. would make a wonderful actor. When I’ve caught him eating an entire pie without sharing he’s told me that it was for medical purposes. It was a very convincing performance. His wardrobe alone, with his numerous colorful wigs and platform shoes, would fit into just about any play. If Mr. C. Cow can stay away from the free juice bar long enough to participate I think he’ll do great.
While Mr. C. Cow is working on his acting chops I’m working on overhauling the camper. Total detailing, cleaning of the cupboards, and a new set of tires is much easier to do when he’s off doing something else. I’m not saying that Mr. C. isn’t helpful but his idea of cleaning the cupboards is rearrange our pots and pans by size and not actually cleaning anything. Marslean is helping me with the detailing duties and Bishop said that he was more than happy to change the oil. I’ve learned from past mistakes that olive oil is not the same as motor oil. I don’t think Bishop will ever let me touch another engine again.
On the last day of theater camp the campers put on a play that they had written during the week. It was something about woodland creatures, a candy shop owner, and involved intricate dance numbers. A tad bit confusing when a giant candy corn sang a love song to a squirrel but I do give them an A+ for creativity.
Mr. C. Cow (Of Course) played the part of the candy shop owner. I was so proud of him because he did an excellent job and restrained himself from eating any of the props. He managed to not wipe out an entire camp juice bar and learned all of his lines. I think that’s a big deal! Maybe he’ll stop using the medical pie excuse and start letting me have a slice.
*See’s Mr. C. Cow eating a pie in the camper after the show.*
I have been really sick for the past week and we haven’t been able to travel around as much. Mr. C. Cow pulled the camper into our home yesterday, parked it, and made me get right into bed. He even made me vegetarian noodle soup. While I was sleeping he called a chef friend of his over and they are currently figuring out how to bake pies. I’m glad I have someone to take care of me!
Being sick really stinks and I am hoping that I am back on my feet soon so we can get back on the road. Till then I’m going to be taking it easy for a few days. Hope to be back to our normal postcards next week!
I’m actually sick and hoping to be back on my feet by next week! Don’t worry! We won’t miss a postcard!
Mr. C. Cow was just a drugstore cowboy. Always looking for a dolled up dame with nice gams.
Tipsy was out giving the bum rush to some hood causing trouble at the juice joint.
Today we visited a private investigators office to figure out what happen to Mr. C. Cow’s apple pie. A detective made the lil cow feel better about finding out who swiped the pie. It made me constantly want to speak in 1920’s slang.
The pie had been cooling on the camper window when it went missing. All that was left was a few crumbs and a brown feather. There are three things in this world that can make a cow cry uncontrollably. Soap operas, missing baked goods, and finding go-go boots that will fit a cow hoof. The crying lasted for hours and I couldn’t take it anymore. That’s how we ended up with me speaking in 1920’s slang in an investigators office.
The detective was very understanding and wiped away those sad cow tears. While I read a magazine they deducted that the pie was stolen by Mr. C. Cow’s duck friend “Quackers”. Quackers had an issue with food boundaries and had been getting help for quite sometime. Looks like Quackers had fallen off the wagon! There was much apologizing, forgiving, and promising of future pies.
I wonder if this is the first time this detective has had to deal with missing pies, cows, ducks, and an otter speaking 1920’s slang.