Moo Moo the Milk Cow

My son, Mason, is quite the enthusiastic gardener. His special brand of "pitching in" around Pocket Square Farm usually involves his 3 foot long child's shovel and sprays of dirt flying in all directions. His commitment to soil removal can be witnessed in many a raised bed... and among my flowers... and even in the middle of the lawn. We're working on this.

Nevertheless, I love that he loves to "help" around the yard. He's been especially interested in our recent garden expansion and developments, mainly because most of them have occurred just outside his bedroom window. Whereas he used to have a view of our neighbor's stucco garage, a sad patch of overgrown lawn, and various discarded garden accoutrements, he now awakens to the sights of raised beds, our beautiful berry arbor, pumpkins, and--of course--our vintage bathtub full of basil.

Although Mason never once questioned the presence of a cast iron bathtub squatting in a pool of gravel in our front yard, he was disturbed by another, more pressing issue.

"Mama, if we have a farm now at our house, we need to get some farm animals," he announced.

"Of course we should, and we will," I replied. "Remember, we're going to get chickens just as soon as we can get a hen house in order," I reminded him.

"But Mommy," he whined, "we need a bigger animal than just chickens. What we need is a cow! Every farm should have a cow!" he proclaimed with conviction.

I agreed whole-heartedly that every farm should, indeed, have a cow. Then I explained in five-year-old terms that our city ordinances did not exactly allow for the raising of cattle.

"Well, I can take care of that!" Mason announced. And suddenly, he was rummaging through his desk, retrieving scissors, crayons, paper, tape, and an errant toilet paper role. He began coloring and snipping, perched on the edge of his chair like a little bird, tongue sticking out licking his upper lip in extreme concentration. Tiny scraps of paper fell like snowflakes at his feet, littering the floor beneath him. This is typical; I walked away and left him to his own devices.

Our house was oddly quiet for quite some time. It must have been at least 40 minutes before his project was complete... and anyone who has a busy 5-year-old knows that 40 minutes of peace and quiet is somewhat akin to an eternity in the parent space-time continuum. At last Mason emerged, triumphant, from his bedroom; a wide, flashing grin spread across his face. I wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified about what he was hiding behind his back.


"Mommy, meet Moo Moo the Milk Cow!" he laughed, presenting our new family pet.

Although Moo Moo can't exactly graze in our pocket-sized "pasture," she now hangs day and night in Mason's bedroom window... where she is most definitely part of our tiny family farm.