The Silent Moo

The Silent Moo


When I used to work in California I had to commute forty-five minutes each way. One day the traffic was heavy and as a semi-truck crawled by I was able to glance through the slatted sides of the trailer. Wondering what kind of animals it carried, if any, I looked.
"Oh, it's MooMoos." I thought, as my childhood nickname just popped into my head. They were tightly packed together and I was wondering if that was safe when it happened. A sole head popped above and over a fidgety comrade's back and gazed at me. I saw liquid brown eyes, wide with fear, beseeching as if only I could relieve its anxiety - a mouth opened in a silent moo.
The moment passed and the truck moved on, but those eyes and the mute cry stayed with me all the way home, where I found my husband happily barbecueing steaks. He never could understand why I turned a little green and skipped dinner.