Got Milk?
The calves are getting bigger now, but they're not yet weaned. They still track down Mommy out in the field and drink her calorie-rich milk. They were about the size of large, gangly dogs early in the spring; now they're almost as big as their moms.
Milk. It's what's for dinner, if you want to be a cow when you grow up.
Ever since I saw my brother downing the stuff like KoolAid when we were kids, I've wondered why on earth humans drink milk. Not only does it taste nasty, but it's full of fat and calories. And drinking fat-free milk, then turning around and eating the cheese made with the fat—what's with that?
In first grade, I was traumatized by the lunch lady, who'd stand there and shake every carton of milk before we could deposit our trays in the wash-up bin. Mine was always full, since I couldn't stomach that warm thick brew. I'd have to shamefully return to my seat, where I'd choke down enough of it to slip past, or else I'd watch for her to leave her post, about the time the scary third graders filed in.
Is it any wonder I embraced veganism?
Sometimes the calves bring back childhood memories best left forgotten.
