Cowspotting

“My cows.”

“What?”

“My cows.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Those cows there on the side of the road.  They’re mine.”

“Uh.  Okay.  Freak.”

“It’s a game.  Sort of.”

“And…”

“My cows.”

“Yeah…”

“No.  I mean those over there this time.”

“Got it.  A game?”

“Yeah.  You’re driving down the road, right?  And if you see any cows, you say ‘my cows’.”

“So?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you win?”

“Well, there’s really no winning.  No counting of cows.  And it doesn’t matter how many are in a given pasture.”

“So what’s the point?”

“There is no point.  Except maybe getting the cows first.  Oh, and if you see a graveyard, you say, ‘All your cows are dead.’”

“So it’s really not a kid’s game then.”

“Not so much.”

“You should really assign some rules.”

“No.  There can be no rules in My Cows.”

“But… there’s no point to it.”

“I know.  My cows.  Way over there by that overpass.”

“’Your cows.’ That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah well.”

“Maybe you could add up all the cows in a given day and the person with the most cows wins.”

“Too much trouble.”

“Or you could count all the cows and win by the number of cows you can count.”

“You do that if you want. Rules just don’t make sense in My Cows. My cows.  On the hill.  There really aren’t enough graveyards in this town.”

“My cows.  Over on the left.”

“I just called them.”

“So there are rules.”

“Not so much.  But you can’t call the same cows I called.  That would create all kinds of chaos.  It would be all ‘my cows my cows my cows my cows my cows my—”

“— Fine.  Over there then.  My cows.”

“I don’t see any cows.”

“Over there.  Left.”

“Those aren’t cows.”

“Sure they are.”

“…not.”

“Those are cows!  Look at them!  Udders and all!”

“Those are sheep.  Not cows.  You don’t get them. Sorry.”

“I see how it is.”

“Good.  My cows.”

“My cows.  Beyond yours.”

“No.  You don’t get those either. They’re in the same pasture.”

“No they’re NOT!”

“Yes they are.  Look.”

“There’s a road between them. They aren’t owned by the same farm.”

“Sure they are.  I know that guy.”

“You know that farmer rancher guy.”

“Yes.”

“You, a professional who works in a fourteenth floor office and hasn’t set foot on a farm in 35 years, knows that guy.”

“You bet.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Oh, wait!  Hang on a second.  What color are my eyes?”

“What?  They’re blue…”

“That’s right.  If I were full of shit, they’d be brown.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“My cows.”

“Those are horses.”

“No they’re not. They’re cows.”

“Would you just LOOK at them?  They’re not cows, they’re horses!”

“Cows.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t seen a single graveyard.”

“I don’t even have any cows to kill.  Apparently.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“…not.  All that matters is who sees cows or a graveyard first.  Kind of like I Spy.”

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“My cows.”

“Those horsecows are in the same pasture as the horsecows you called a minute ago.”

“No they’re not.  And they’re not horses, they’re cows.”

“Yes they ARE!  See that road right over there?”

“I don’t see any road.”

“It’s RIGHT there!”

“I didn’t see it.  It wasn’t there.”

“My cows.”

“All your cows are dead.”

“What?  I don’t see any graveyards.”

“There was a squirrel dead on the side of the road.”

“A dead squirrel is a graveyard.”

“Sure.  Why not?”

“Uh.  Because it’s not.”

“Sure it is.”

“A graveyard is for dead people.”

“Is a pet cemetery a graveyard?”

“Well…”

“Of course it is.  All your cows are dead.”

“A graveyard has tombstones.”

“Not all graveyards.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“All your cows are dead.”

“No they’re not.  I already called the squirrel.”

“Do you see all the bugs on this windshield?”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Now why would your squirrel count but not my bugs?”

“Because the bugs are on the car.”

“So?”

“So.  You could sit there going ‘all your cows are dead all your cows are dead all your—‘.”

“Fine.”

“My llamas.”

“What?!  Llamas!  This game is supposed to be about cows!”

“My road.”

“Moron.”

“My telephone pole.  My telephone pole.  My telephone pole.  My telephone pole.  My tele—“

“—My entire universe and everything in it.”

“My last word.”