Yesterday afternoon, on a Santa Monica rose garden meander, I came across the most glorious, gentle giant of a great dane sprawled blissfully in the grass, eyes closed. I whispered to its hip young human that it looked like a happy cow. She said “Thank you…I’ve never seen a cow.” I was a bit dumbfounded and tossed in that the cows in the Netherlands were majestic and sweet and velvety looking, just like this.” She said that the only thing that she knew about cows, besides that they gave milk, is that in India they are sacred. “Yes, I said…they are…but they are not lush like European cows, they tend to be gaunt and dirty” And she said “Really? I thought if they were sacred that they probably lived in luxury in beautiful houses.”
I kept quiet…to a degree…and said “No…they don’t. They wander the streets and are lucky if they find a newspaper to eat, but your Dexter does not remind me of those cows”.
And Dexter opened his eyes and looked at me.