When people see my cow-print flannel, floppy ears, and pink udders, they smile. Then I smile. By the time our eyes meet, we’ve already shared a whimsical connection.
My suits and I have stifled the tears of cancer survivors. I’ve given motivational speeches to middle school math clubs as a lesser-known super hero, “The Cow-culator” and encouraged weary marathoners with signs exclaiming “Keep Moooving!” I was wearing a cow suit on September 11, 2001 when the first two planes hit the towers, and the last Christmas cards my mom sent before her death featured me as a trombone-playing moosical cow.
I would love to write a book of essays and true stories through the lens of life in a cow suit, but I'm busy, darn it! Just today my calf buddies, Finn and Jack, cowed for their mom and sister in a local fun run. Then we stopped at a hardware store for a plunger, grabbed breakfast, hit my credit union for some cash and jetted to their respective tee ball games.
As they handed me their outfits in exchange for team t-shirts and mitts, I thanked them for joining me and realized it was our third weekend in a row cowing. We cheered at a triathlon last weekend and attended the Portneuf Valley Environmental Fair in full cow before that. I told them, "You guys have become great little cows. It's like we've started our own cow suit Saturday tradition." As Finn (the older calf) handed me his hood he exclaimed, "I love Cow Suit Saturday!"
So, until a magical eighth day of the week arrives to afford me time for a book, this Cow Suit Saturday blog it is.