Jenny the Cow

It was just like any other day and I was stuck in a stuffy 6th grade classroom while the teacher blabbered on about something that no one was listening to anyway.  All of the sudden, our daydreams were rudely interrupted by a strong rap on the door.  The teacher answered to a police officer who asked if I was in the class.  Now, I’m not a perfect little angel; I get into my share of trouble but nothing bad enough for the cops to be involved.  Honestly, I had no idea what I’d done.  Silently, I followed the officer out to the schoolyard, where, much to my surprise stood my cow, Jenny.  Yes, there was Jenny in the middle of the soccer field.  How had she gotten here?  What was she doing here?  Why was she here?  I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I did know that I needed to do something fast or that officer would shoot her.  How do you prevent an officer from shooting your cow without getting shot yourself?  I’m still not sure.

“Don’t shoot!”  I heard a distant wailing.  I looked up towards my house and saw my mother running down the hill flailing her arms.  “Momma’s here, Jenny, come to Momma.”

I was mortified.  Surely the entire school was watching from the window.  I think police commotion in the parking lot warrants a break from useless math.  In case having my cow at school wasn’t bad enough, my screaming mother was not helping the situation.  The officer’s arms were still extended, finger on the trigger.
“Don’t shoot!  I’ll get her to move!  Don’t shoot!  Jenny, Momma’s here, come to Momma.  Jenny, come to Momma,” she continued, and I almost wished I were back in class, bored to death. 

My mother drew nearer to us, the police officer did not lower his gun, and Jenny refused to move.  He wouldn’t really shoot Jenny, would he?  He can’t shoot her, can he?  I didn’t know.  All I knew is that my mother was running out of ideas and the cop was growing impatient.  In the distance, I could see a yellow truck approaching our brouhaha.  Instantly, I recognized it as my dad’s.  How many people do you know with big yellow trucks?  On second thought, how many people do you know with cows at school?  Pa pulled over to the side of the road and hopped out.  Everybody’s focus switched from Jenny to Dad.

“Jenny, there’s Dada, go to Dada,” Mom said.  I wish she would sound a bit more grown up, even if she is just talking to the cow.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Jenny did go to Pa.  The officer lowered his gun, Mom stopped screaming, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  On to the next problem: how were we going to get Jenny home?  Luckily, Pa had it all figured out; he popped open the tailgate and she hopped into the truck bed.  Pa drove Mom and Jenny home, and unfortunately I was sent back to class.