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!