I remember when I was a little boy on the farm. The farm had 2 beautiful cows, one called Linda (granny’s favourite) and another called Nambooze.

To this day, I don’t know why that cow was named Nambooze, because it was the most angry creature I ever set my eyes on.

You know, it’s not common to even have the farm that we had in town, for very many reasons but Granny made it clear that we were to feed on fresh cow milk.

So, this one day, the herdsmen decided to fall sick and little Shawn had to go milk the cows.

It always seemed so easy. Tie the legs, and the tail, apply milking salve, place the bucket under the udder and start squeezing white juice out.

My baby Linda took it easy, and I got a quarter full bucket out of her. I was happy.

Nambooze couldn’t take any of that. I probably was so high on anxiety, I didn’t knot the rope properly.

That evening, I broke a leg, lost milk, and got a good wallop from the old lady.

Long story short, Nambooze’s mear was really delicious.