by Jeff Charlebois

Created on: April 26, 2009

The following excerpts were taken from the dairy diary of Lil. Lil has no last name because she is a cow-just a simple brown dairy cow. From the time that Lil was a calf she recalls always having a passion to write. (She also had a passion to chew cud but knew there wasn't much promise in that particular field.) Her stimulating essays gained her great acclaim within the herd-even though most of them could not read. (The one's that could read would silently read to themselves but would often move their lips in the process.)

We do not have the space to publish the majority of her prolific writings, however, we were able to obtain permission from her literary agent to publish one week of Lil's private and innermost thoughts. These extraordinary seven days occurred in the Summer of '85-during the height of the Great Grenada War.

Monday, July 17:

It was a hot humid day and, like always, I had to wear this cumbersome fur coat. I don't look good in fur-especially brown (yuk!). It makes my rump look too big and that's the last thing a cow needs. I want to attract a nice bull-not a butcher! Maybe I should exercise mooore and quit stuffing my face with grass. I can't help it. There's just something about grass that I love. How can anyone not like grass?

I had trouble sleeping last night. Who can sleep standing up, anyway? I know that wasn't the entire problem. I can never sleep Sunday nights because I'm so concerned about what I want to accomplish for the upcoming week. I never accomplish anything. I just can't find the time between milking and what not.

Tuesday, July 18:

I'm very, very tired today. They had all the cows up early this morning for "the milking." When we were finished the roosters were just waking up. I can't stand the lactation process. Just thinking about those cold metal nozzles on my teats... Whoa! It gives me the shivers just thinking about it. Oh, I feel so drained today. I think they milked me for everything I had. Much to the farmer's dismay, I knocked over a bucket of milk today with my tail. It made me cry. I'm so emotional. What's so great about milk anyway? Although, I must admit it does go well with a Chocolate Chip Cookie from Pepperidge Farm.

I hate living on a farm. Theirs no one I can have a thought provoking philosophical conversation with. I certainly would never discuss Melville's symbolism in "Mooooby Dick" with a chicken. Chickens are so unintelligent-and their cocky too. I've never met a chicken I could trust. Oh well, I think I'll

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