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Bovine humor won again. Angus smelled like an old bull ready for action, and he was. Good things wafted towards his nose. County fiar time. He saw his girlfriend through a glass, darkly, and giggled when some passing fairgoer called her "Bossy" because she really was quite agreeable.
He slicked down his cowlick, settling it in her owner's vest pocket where six mice built a nest and then died six heinous deaths - whoopee! but the cowlick didn't stay, it cowered briefly, then moooved back up. Bullishly, Angus swaggered towards his girl, whose lashes fluttered briefly. Can a cow swoon?
