Well, I sorta can. You see, my sister Jessie’s been working at Shatto for a year and she’s in charge of the newborn baby calves. And she gets to help name them. (It’s starting to make sense now, right?) Now you’re wondering what took her so long to name my cow, aren’t you? Actually, she’s only been working with the calves for a little while, so I’m feeling especially honored. I wasn’t even expecting it!

Before Jessie was the Calf Girl, she was the best bottle washer Shatto had. I can confidently say that – she was the ONLY bottle washer they had. She’s a fantastically hard worker, and she washed Every. Single. Bottle. Speaking of their bottles - I love them. Have you ever read the back of them? Hilarious. Actually, ALL their packaging is wonderful. Whoever is in charge of it is a genius. If you haven’t checked it out, Go. To. The. Farm. They do tours. Jessie does tours. You would love it. You would love her. Even if she doesn’t name a cow after you. (Please, everyone can’t have that honor.)

Anyway, back to my cow. Technically, she’s not a “cow” yet – she’s a “calf” or a “heifer.” Jessie tried to explain the difference to me. It was lost on this city girl. I was loyal to Shatto before. If I hadn’t been before, I think it’d be impossible not to be now.

Look at the two of us together – see a resemblance? (Really, that’s a rhetorical question. No need to answer it. Mom.) And yes, I realized when Jessie named a cow after me, she could be calling me one. But Jessie loves cows – after all, when she looks at cow faces, she thinks of Barry. I’m guessing she loves me too.

PS – Shatto’s Family Farm Day is coming up soon. You should go. And meet Leila. The Cow.

Regardless of the accuracy of Reece’s claim, my weekends sometimes involve cows, even though I don’t wrestle them. Ever heard of the Westport Flea Market? One word. Burgers. Go there next time you’re in KC. Trust me, you won’t regret it. As long as you don’t run into Bob Berdella that is. (And you shouldn’t – he’s dead now.)

This weekend I spent a little time in the books. It doesn’t sound anywhere as cool as wrestling cows, I know. I am simply not as cool as Reece. Get over it. I’m taking bar exam number four this coming Tuesday. Crazy, right? But I registered for it back when my office was less than 30 minutes from Iowa, and since I paid for it already, there’s no reason not to take it. I’m not overly stressed about it. If I don’t pass it, it’s going to cause some damage to my ego but not to my career. So Monday I’m off to Des Moines (mandatory orientation beginning at 1:00) and Tuesday I’m writing a bunch of essays. I don’t have to take Wednesday’s portion (the multiple choice section). Small blessings.

Let’s not call it a bar exam. Let’s call it a mini-vacation. (Normally I’d pick a different destination than Iowa, but I’ll take what I can get.) I’ll let you know how it goes. If I don’t pass, let’s have a virgin mojito together. If I do pass, let’s have a virgin mojito together. (You see, either way it’s going to be good!) Cheers!