Happiness is a little grass

The cow is a happy animal these days.

All day herds of them wander about munching on the fresh carpet of grass and shrubs that has sprouted magically in the rain. Delicately they nibble at the sweetest and most tender leaves before moving on to the next clump of green.

They’ve become fastidious eaters overnight, gourmets even. Where once they gobbled anything hungrily, now they fussily search for blades of grass and shoots that have freshly sprouted that morning. Yesterday’s new leaves won’t do for them anymore. Oh no. They’re much too grand for that now. Their long enforced fasting through the summer months is over. Now they have a feast provided by the rain gods. And the garbage bins wear a desolate air.

While the cows eat, I get the unmistakable whiff of another kind of grass. Someone, somewhere, is enjoying a smoke.

Funny thing how grass can make both cows and men happy.

And they put up signs saying: Keep off the grass! Tch.