Oz Diva
Carmody Gazette
February 31st 18-
AVONLEA ALTERATIONS OF A BOVINE BRAND
Surprising events have been occurring in the usually quiet hamlet of Avonlea. It appears that housewives have been metamorphosing into bovines. "We don't rightly know what is going on," farmer, Mr Matthew Cuthbert told this reporter. "One moment my sister was out visiting and the next both women had become cows. It's right lonely without her and there's no one to cook my dinner." Similar stories have been repeated all over town.
Strangely this is not the only bizarre event of the week, the normally reliable Farmers Almanac has also been offering unusual advice, to wit mentions of 'predictive text' which is scheduled to start 'making suggestions in 2019.' Whether these two events can be linked may never be known, or at least not until the fabled 2019 when we can believe men may live on the moon.
More to come…
"Goodness, Marilla," Anne gulped as the newspaper fluttered to the ground after she finished her apple. "It's not just you, Mrs Blythe and Mrs Lynde affected, it's all over town." Hanging over the fence, she held her apple core out to Marilla who took it on her long pink tongue and crunched it appreciatively, mixing the deliciously juicy fruit with some grass from one stomach or another. Marilla mooed through the mix, "mooomuuuugrrrrrilllla." Of course, she usually didn't approve of talking with a full mouth but as a cow she spent so much time chewing the cud, there was little time to talk if one obeyed thatrule. Marilla stamped her back left hoof, swished her tail to disturb the irritating flies and let out a soft moo. She blinked her long dark eyelashes at Anne, gentle amber eyes taking in the sight of her beloved daughter.
A housewife's lot in the 1870s was harsh: up early to milk, the cooking, the laundry, the sweeping, the mopping, the mending – from dawn to dusk, it was never ending. Bovine life was not all bad in comparison; grass was palatable, delicious even and the lack of opposable thumbs rendered housework impossible. All she had to do now was stand around eating. Twice a day Matthew milked her, slightly later than she liked actually. Human Marilla never understood the tight pain of overfull udders; but it was a blessed relief when she felt Matthew's firm but soft hands on her teats, releasing her fresh milk into the bucket. Any embarrassment at being naked in front of her brother, or anyone else, soon dissipated, she was a cow after all.
"Well hello there Rachel." Thomas Lynde was a straightforward chap, a few weeks ago, the thought of milking his wife might have had sexual overtones, but now it was mere necessity. Rachel was a recalcitrant bovine, however. She would routinely kick over the bucket, spilling the contents into the mud. In fact, he thought, glancing at yet another white stain on the ground, maybe he'd sell her? She was more trouble than she was worth.