by Jonathan Dy My experience with cattle may be limited to long drives through farmland and pastureland, but you wouldn't be able to tell by my expanse cow savee.   "There is not much to know about cows" says the lay-person, but alas thou art wrong in these thoughts says I. An intricate lifestyle these gals lead, up until the day they are "chosen"... chosen to fill our burger buns. The typical day of a cow (for our sake, let's refer to the case of any ol cow and let's name her Betsy... so I like getting personal with my cattle) begins with a milking, be it the traditional manual way, or the advanced technological way, hooked up to tubes and wires (yes, ladies and gents, I watch my Sesame Street... either that or this tubes and wires thing came to me in a dream. I forget).   Betsy then strolls down to the pastures for some hard core grazing and shitting... then it's goodnight Betsy. Ladies and gentlemen, a day in the life of a cow. I don't think there's been a cow who has done more than that. Honestly, have you ever seen a frickin' cow walk? I don't think so... them lazy bastards!   Obviously, I was being sarcastic about intricate cow lifestyles. The extent of their exercising is the march from the morning milking to the feeding, as well as the often straining of her ass muscles to exert some flatulent gases into our atmosphere.   Now let us focus a bit on this phenomena: cow farts. They sleep, they eat, they milk and they fart like crazy. I think that's the definition of a cow in the Webster's dictionary, but don't quote me on that.   A drive in any direction, north, south, east west (that's up, down, and all around for the lay-person once again) would send any vacationer through a thick mass of a fat cow's ass gas. They're all around us, and this further strengthens my theory on a global animal take-over... they may be lazy bastards, but they got the numbers as well as a potent melange of putrid, malodorous emissions (a.k.a. 'smelly farts' to the lay-person).   Betsy is a lucky one, for she has yet to be 'chosen'. But I assure you, fellow readers, that within the next few months, she will be all over the map... her tongue at IGA, her rump at Loblaws, here a thigh, there a thigh, everywhere a thigh thigh. It's painful to think, but it tastes good with a bit 'o sauce, and a lil seasoning.   But for the present, we are happy to have Betsy still with us just as long as she keeps up with the high milk production levels, because I'z takes lotsa milk with my Lucky Charms. Come to think of it, I probably use too much milk. Don't you hate when your cereal just goes soggy after a minute of submergence, and when your fake marshmallows color the milk, giving it a brownish tint? It all just results in a bowl of slop. But let's save that pet peeve for another day shall we?