A Case of Mistaken Identity

In the early 1980's I made a farm call down in Banks County to doctor a sick cow. It was late at night, and the cow was down. I treated her and did everything possible to make her comfortable in hopes of her being able to get up in the next few hours. Instructions were given to the cattleman, and the veterinary bill settled.

Larry, the cattleman, backed up a little, cocked his head from side to side, and seriously eyed the cow. I was getting very curious about what was going on when he announced, "That's not my cow. She's not my cow."

He was extremely miffed that his neighbor's cow had stolen into his pasture, and now he had paid to treat her. Twenty plus years later, each time I run into Larry, I always work the conversation around to that cow.