You know Cow, but do you really know Cow?
I need to share 10 things with you about my very unusual dog. These are things that I don’t expect anyone to understand, but I hope you can believe at least half of it.
1. Cow has udders.
Cow got her name when she was a puppy, but when she was 9 months old, she had babies of her own, and her midsection never quite bounced back. Her pendulous breasts look like udders, true to her name.
2. She’s always either completely out of it, or completely lost in the moment.
I’ve been told that Cow is “always in another world,” and it’s true, she’s often staring into space with a glazed look in her eyes.
I’m not sure if it’s because her mind is completely empty (not a bad thing, she may be a reincarnation of a Buddhist monk, deep in meditation at times), but I’d swear that if I pressed my ear up against her forehead, I’d hear crickets chirping.
But when Cow’s present, she’s in. the. moment.
She has so many feelings, whether she’s crying hysterically because we’re going out for a potty walk for the fourth time today, or crashing into the glass door because there’s a fly that she needs to catch.
3. I hear the Jurassic Park theme when she looms over me.
There’s something unsettling about waking up to Cow staring at me, unblinking, looking larger than life.
4. Cow HATES the Happy Birthday song.
Maybe it’s because of some repressed memory, or maybe it has something to do with her past life.
Maybe she just gets jealous.
But whenever it’s someone’s birthday, and everyone’s voice chimes in harmony, she DIVES off the couch, barks her head off and starts jumping up on people. UN. ACCEPTABLE.
5. She makes baby bird noises.
When I’m driving Matilda and Cow to the dog park, and I’m approaching the gate, I start to hear high-pitched squeals from the back seat.
Sometimes, we have an additional passenger with us, who will inevitably say, “Aw, Matilda is crying!”
And I will have to say, “No, those squeaky baby bird noises are coming from Cow.”
And I will be laughed at until we exit the car, Cow continues to squeak, and our friend realizes that I wasn’t joking.
6. She has no spatial awareness.
Much to Matilda’s dismay, Cow likes to hop up onto the couch and plop down next to her.
Unfortunately, Cow has no sense of her own body, so she’ll start to sit on Matilda.
Matilda has learned to get up when Cow approaches, and then begrudgingly curl up to Cow’s butt, or give up her spot and lie elsewhere, depending on how tired she feels.
7. She wrinkles her nose while she’s killing flies.
Cow has an affinity for chasing houseflies, which is great. I’m thankful for that.
Once she catches it in midair, particularly impressive considering her lack of spatial awareness, she will spit it out in disgust.
At this point, the fly is still alive, but maimed.
Cow will then pick up the fly in her mouth, chew it for a moment while wrinkling her nose at what I imagine is a bitter taste, and spit it out.
If it dies, she’ll move onto the next. If not, repeat.
I’m not sure if she continues this because she’s hoping the next fly will be bacon flavored, or if she’s committed to her exterminating duties because she loves me so much.
8. Cow kicks in her sleep. Every time.
Every time Cow falls asleep, whether it’s for a short nap or for the night, she starts to kick. Hard.
Sometimes, she also barks in her sleep with her lips closed, making a buh-buh-buh-buh sound.
Maybe she’s a lucid dreamer, pursuing advanced enlightenment while I lie around and just… you know, sleep.
9. She refuses to stop playing with Matilda’s tiny toys.
When I go out, I like to bring back a toy for Matilda and Cow.
This is a grave error on my part, every time. I always buy the tiniest toy I can find for Matilda, as she’s just five pounds and can only play fetch with objects no larger than a mouse.
Then I buy a normal-sized toy for Cow.
Why do I continue to do this?
I just know that when I get home, Cow is going to bully Matilda into giving up her tiny toy.
Matilda doesn’t seem to mind, as she likes to take the big toys and roll around with them between her front paws, lying on her back to kick them with her feet.
Cow, meanwhile, tosses the tiny toy in the air, having a grand old time. I worry that she’ll accidentally swallow a tiny toy, but they seem just large enough to keep from getting stuck in her throat.
10. She’s oblivious about her unrequited love for Matilda.
Cow LOVES Matilda. Matilda… eh.
No, Cow is OBSESSED with Matilda. She always wants to sleep next to her. She always wants to play with her. She raises hell if Matilda won’t play with her, running around and barking like a lunatic.
Heck, Cow wants to BE Matilda.
Matilda is Regina George, and Cow is that weird girl who bought army pants and flip flops.
11. I’m sorry, I forgot the best thing about Cow.
There’s normal dogs, and then there’s Cow.
Cow has a sense of humor.
No. I don’t mean like when people say, “Oh, my Pug farted and scared himself and ran into a screen door, he’s so funny.”
Pugs are walking disasters and they’re not in on the joke. If you’re a Pug lover, you know I’m not lying.
But Cow has a complex, ironic sense of humor.
She thinks it’s hilarious that she can fit Matilda’s entire head in her mouth. She does it ever so gently, and then wags her stump like crazy, as though she’s so pleased with her own joke.
She also thinks she’s so funny when she plays with a toy that’s way too small for her.
I love making her laugh by doing unhuman things like rolling around on the floor, and she laughs with her entire body.
And that one time she followed me into a Dollar Store… in her wiggly body language and breathy barks I knew that she thought it was so humorous, that she, a dog, was in such an unexpected human place.
I know you won’t believe half the things I’ve said about Cow, and you’re thinking that I’m anthropomorphizing her.
And that, too, is a joke. Deep down, I know she’s laughing to herself all the time.
Behind that blank stare, there’s a self-aware being who’s truly in on the joke that is her ridiculous, amazing, inspiring, adorable existence.