A prisoner in my own home!
The Cowboy, who runs this place, says I was bad. Says I was living up to my name, Calamity Jane. Says I was causing trouble. Says I have to be in jail for awhile.
I don’t know how long a “while” is, but I maintain I was only doing what any good mother would do.
You see, there’s this calf . . .
It’s not mine, but its mother wasn’t paying any attention to it, so I adopted it.
But those other cows were only visiting, and that cow went home, and took my baby with her.
So I felt sorry for the baby, and I tried to go get her back.
I had to travel quite far . . .
Through fences and gates . . .
And across a pond.
I hollered and hollered, but the Cowboy caught me redhoofed, racing back and forth across the pond bank, in a pasture where he says I wasn’t supposed to be.
But I was desperate — looking for my adopted child.
That dog of his, and that beastly yellow horse . . . they made me go back to the barn. Without my baby.
And now I’m in jail. Indefinitely.
I’m still protesting.
But the Cowboy says that baby isn’t mine, and I can’t just go stealing other cow’s children, and tearing down fences, and going places I’m not supposed to.
These are all crimes, and now I must pay. I’m really wondering how long a “while” really is.
At least the meals are good!