Daisy

Daisy wasn’t just a cow. She was part of the family. We bottle-fed her when her mother died soon after her birth. She followed me like a puppy when I was ten. She used to headbutt the other cows if they got too close to her people. She gave us milk for years. Never kicked the bucket once. Trusted me fully. I’d talk to her while tossing the hay or silage. She listened better than most folks. Her eyes were soft. You wouldn’t think a cow could look wise, but she did. She got arthritis. We tried pain meds, softer bedding, but her legs couldn’t carry her no more. The vet helped her go. It was peaceful. She was more than livestock. She was a good soul.