Meds

So I've got an appointment next week to meet with a psychiatrist at the Hallowell Center, where I've been going to get tested for ADD. Apparently I have it, and pretty bad, too. We'll definitely discuss medication; I don't know if it will be Ritalin or what. I currently take Paxil, for panic disorder, which I had at a disabling level before adding medication to the therapy I was undergoing.

Paxil, of course, is a relatively new drug, and while it's helped me out tremendously, I think there are a lot of unknowns. Going off of it can be flat out horrible and I've heard staying on it long term can cause flashbacks and other strange problems. I've noticed lately I am remembering bits of things that happened to me long ago, and also fragments of dreams I can remember having, but can't remember when. It's unsettling, when I let myself think about it. Mostly I push it to the back of my mind, because I know I'm going to talk to someone who knows about this sort of thing.

But I wonder -- if I cure the ADD, will I finally be a "success"? Will I find the focus and will to write the book? Or will it shut off all the thoughts that constantly race through my mind, and therefore the source of material for it? I've thought in narrative passages for many, many years. I walk down the street writing stories in my head about what I'm doing, what I've done. Where I'm going. This used to cause me to walk into traffic, but I'm more careful about that now. But because of my lack of focus and poor organizational skills, most of these thoughts go unwritten.

Sigh.

Then there's the whole stigma attached to mental illness. I'm choosing to look at my ADD, anxiety, and dysthymia (diffuse low-grade depression) as something akin to diabetes or, I don't know, IBS, only instead of my pancreas or my lower GI tract being wonky, it's my brain. But this is a relatively new thought for me. I have a couple of good friends who've had issues with panic disorder, serious ones, and one saw a resurgence recently and said to her husband something to the effect of "I'm sorry you married a crazy person." Despite all her efforts to not think of herself that way, this is how it came out.

I, too, for many, many years have secretly held this judgment about myself: that I am damaged, somehow. Not top-shelf. And therefore undeserving of a relationship because I don't want to inflict myself on others. And I thought I didn't want to date anyone with similar issues, because I felt like they too were somehow tainted. At the same time I know some of the ways in which I am damaged came from my environment and while I know it doesn't work to blame your past or the people in it who hurt you, my work on that isn't done yet. Nor is my work done on resolving how terrible I feel about the pain I caused others. And, let me tell you, some days I feel pretty fucking terrible. I suppose this sort of work is never done.

I don't feel bad about myself today. I didn't feel bad about myself yesterday. And hopefully I won't feel that way tomorrow. Hopefully I'll contribute to mental illness becoming a less stigmatized term. I know that I'm more emotionally intelligent than the majority of people my age. And I know I'm moving in the right direction.

My Eyeballs Hurt

I've been line editing a document that's all about hedge funds and MAN is it boring. This following a day spent transcribing an Italian man talking about the exciting, exciting world of the mobile phone business. In Russia.

At least I also got to listen to a little more of Ted Sorensen talk slooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwlllllllllllly about the Bay of Pigs and about how JFK was never in on any plans to assassinate Castro and about an undocumented flight he took to an undisclosed Latin American country to assuage a leader there about stuff that was written about him in a well-known American newspaper.

"I chew my cud, and I poop in balls, like a bunny or a sheep."

So sayeth Dr. Moo. She's in my apartment right now and she asked me to come look at her poo, and so I did. This is nothing new; I've seen it before, when she was a toddler. PolackPappy called us all into the bathroom. "Look what your sister did!" he said, with pride, while Dr. Moo stood beside the bowl, hands clasped behind her back, beaming.

Moo just told me this poopnomenon doesn't normally happen. It's only once in a while. And I am sorry if I grossed anyone, or, well, everyone, out, but I couldn't resist sharing.

And one day I shall have a wiener dog and her name will be Flora and on Halloween she, too, shall dress as a banana.

This is from Cute Overload.

Noisy

F to Y I, all my childless peeps, I'd say a good 60% of the toys out there today make one sort of noise or another, whether it's a honk, a beep beep, or a "la-la-la, Elmo's world!" And when you are picking up the toys of a small person in your life, you will forget this, and will put the slightest amount of pressure on the stuffed Pooh or Elmo or frog or platypus and it will YELL AT YOU. And you will sigh and put it away and when you turn your back it will yell at you again.

I'm just sayin'.

Running Buddy

As I've noted before, something in my aura tends to attract 50 to 80 year old men and weirdos to me like bees to honey. Sometimes dogs and small children follow me around, too.

Take this morning, for example: I'm almost done my jog, I'm on CD #2, when I pass by a girl, probably around 9 or 10, who's on her way to school. She's got her backpack on, her hair braided, and she's good-sized. Not fat, but not thin either. I smile at her as I run by and think nothing of it.

Then I hear a clop-clopping sound and I realize the little girl is jogging behind me. I turn around and smile at her and tell her she's very fast. Then I seem to lose her, but when I reached the entrance to the school, I look down, and there she is, smiling up at me. I smile at her again and tell her I think she's pretty good and to have a good day. She tells me to have a good day, too, and heads off to school, while I head home.

Good TV

I seem to be watching a lot of the boob tube lately, but not all of it's crap. Tonight I'm watching an Independent Lens documentary about Sesame Street in other countries. Sesame Street was originally created in the late sixties in part to put poor children on more of an equal level educationally with their wealthier peers and it crossed racial divides in a way that no other children's program had done before. And now they're doing that on a global basis, and teaching values like respect for other people along with reading and numbers.

I found some parts of the program riveting, and touching, like when the Bangladeshi team got their Muppets -- they were just experiencing this pure, human, joy. I'm not the sort of person who believes there will ever be peace on earth, because I don't think any of us (well, a majority of us) are either all good or all bad. But I do believe there are powerful forces of goodness in the world (even though typing that sappy line makes me want to throw up a little) and I think Sesame Street is one of those forces. Watching those Bangladeshis with their puppets made me cry a little.

Typity Type Type Type

It was a banner day in the transcription office today, with 7+ hours of typing (well, 6:30 with breaks). I started off listening to someone from Mercy Corps talk about the work they do in Kosovo, then broke off midstream to listen to Joan Collins talk about her new book and her wedding to that 12 year old, Percy. She pronounced "placement" as plahs-mahn, and got me all confused. Then I listened to Larry Summers talk about stem cells and in a very obvious fashion make sure to add in "shes" when talking about scientists.

After that I listened to the man who sued the government over including the word "God" in the pledge of allegiance. He was asked what it was like arguing before the Supreme Court; he said it was just like moot court but with older judges and bigger chairs.

For my 3 West Coast readers

Two of whom are male and straight. (And taken, McMumsy. : ) )Although one of those men happens to watch America's Next Top Model. But I shall not reveal his name!

So this is for him, and for my female friend.

Within the first five minutes of The Bachelor the "girls" in the house are asked to say on videotape who "doesn't deserve to be a princess."

I really can't do this justice on the blog. You just have to see it in person.

PS, the "prince's" big business is a pet spa.

Trip

The McPolack women are not handling gravity so well lately.

Friday I was on my way back from the gym, scone in hand, ready to take the cross-parking-lot shortcut back to my apartment when I came upon the Jersey barrier that skirts it. Rather than go around it as I normally would, I coolly went step right over it, whilst imagining I was in that commercial for skinny jeans where "Walk the Line" plays.

Will I never learn that every time I try to achieve coolness I am soundly bitch-slapped by the universe?

Instead of stepping over the Jb, I caught my sneaker on it, and somehow managed to fold myself in half. I flailed there for a minute or two, be-shorted ass in the air, cottage cheesy thighs exposed to the world, because I couldn't figure out how to right myself without losing my scone. And there was no way I was going to drop my scone.

Now I have some rather impressive purple-blue bruises on both my legs.

Meanwhile, in Vermont, Dr. Moo had a momentary lapse of sanity, noticing while she was walking in a cow barn that all the cows seemed to be slipping and not thinking much of it until she herself slipped and face-planted directly into the udder of the cow in front of her.

Alotta Fagina

Went to Albany this weekend, came back with another vagina.

Let me explain. My apartment is currently home to my vagina, my cat's vagina, a molded tin full frontal nude that came from Mexico, and a sketch of a large full frontal nude that came from a Mexican.

This weekend, I went to Albany, with OSB and her baby girl, to vist JoyceFrances, formerly of Rotter-DAMN! Now she lives in a cute row house with her artist husband. He showed me some paintings. The first was a vivid, colorful one of his hairy penis. Then he said "Oh, let me erase that from your mind" and showed me a nude painting he did of JoyceFrances many moons ago. You can guess what body part he focused on. Boy, does he love it. I yelled "My eyes! My eyes!" Then, to pay them back, I plucked my man hairs and my stomach hairs in front of them after dinner, and threatened to clip my toenails.

Then when I left I got a door prize, this Klimt, featuring, yes, yet another vagina. I hung it in my bathroom.

Oh, Lord, now I'm in love with Joaquin Phoenix. Or Johnny Cash. Or whatever.

I know I am super late to the table on this but I just don't go to movies (because I'm broke) and so I wait and take them out on DVD at the library. And I don't even go to the big library, which has lots of movies, because I'd have to drive there. Instead I go to the branch library, because I can walk there, and because there is a handsome man working there. But they don't have many movies.

Anyhoo, tonight I borrowed Walk the Line. Now, I purchased myself a Johnny Cash compilation CD some months back. I like dark music played with feeling and he does this well. I knew his story was interesting and now I'm in love, love, love, love, love.

Sigh.

Ode II a Mellowcreme Pumpkin

Click here for last year's tribute. Read on for this year's...

Dear mellowcreme pumpkin,
like you there is no other
I love you almost more
Than I love my little brother

Your size and shape, they differ
Unique in every way
Just like real pumpkins growing
In fall fields mulched with hay

Just two of you a day
Do I allow myself to eat
Your sugary orange goodness
Is my very favorite treat

Oh, I would lots more of you
I am not telling lies
If only there were some guarantee
You would not end up as my thighs

Thank you.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa

So today after a six-hour shift at the transcription agency, I spent (am now spending) three hours in the hipster coffee shop trying to make a dent in a bunch of my India files, partly so I can leave early on Friday to go visit JoyceFrances who, thank God, moved out of Rotter-damn! to a row house in Albany.

Unfortunately, there are some unbelievably loud and annoying people in here right now. We’re talking ear-bleeding cackles and shrieks. No one is that amusing. OK, on occasion I am that amusing, but from the looks of this group, they are a bunch of stinky hippy schlubs and I hate them and I wish they would just shut the F up.

Ooo, someone handsome and tall just sat down next to me!

BAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFF

Okay, okay. This is for all you TV watchers: Has anyone seen the previews, which have been running endlessly, for What About Brian? I don't know if words can do it justice. Oh, boo hoo, what about poor leetle Brian, with his shaggy hair and scruffy beard-lite and his love for his friend's soon to be wife? There's this scene at the end of the preview where he's making the most sickeningly toilet-overflowingly stupid mushy nani doodyface that I have ever, ever seen. It is dreck and schlock and smarmy and cheddy to the nth degree and beyond. It is even worse than The Bachelor, which is pretty horrible, and which I, er, happen to be watching right now.

The New York Times (sort of) redeems itself

After a series of revolting articles in the Style section, I was pleased to read this past Sunday (albeit online as the price of the paper paper has gone up to 5! crazy dollars, out of my budget) that all the cool kids are waiting until later in life to get married. Take that, married 20-somethings and barely-thirty babymakers. I, living alone with my cat, cat rug, cat books, cat butt whistle, and cat figurine am now officially cooler than you. Ha!

Also in the NYT, accompanying a photo accompanying an article about bedbugs, was this memorable caption:

Louis N. Sorkin, an entomologist at the American Museum of Natural History, often lets a small colony of bedbugs feed on his arm.

The fact that Mr. Sorkin does this "often" is my favorite part.

Don't Talk About My Nubbin

So I'm here in A Cautionary Tale's beautiful home in Dovah (Dover) surrounded by pets (she and her beau have three kitties and one doggie with smelly breath) and Ctale just changed the channel on me from exciting NHPTV program I was watching on how to grow a giant pumpkin. Damn her!

As Ctale is in her confinement (old-timey term for being super-pregnant), she is too exhausted at the end of the day to post. So I will post for her. She is doing super! Super-duper, as a matter of fact. She looks fabulous, and her belly is like a (slightly) oversized maraschino cherry, at least when she is wearing her red cable-knit zip-up sweater. She likes to sit on her front porch with her beau in their matching turquoise-blue rocking chairs and watch the world go by. She has a diaper genie, not for the baby, but for the dog poo. She and her beau are hosting their families for Thanksgiving in their new home, and are serving deep-fried turkey. She has an amazing, slightly creepy video of her daughter moving around in her belly. It is set to music. She also has this frightening-ass catalogue.

OK, back to me. Yesterday I bought the most frigging fabulous pair of shoes ever. I'm going to wear them out to the Friendly Toast today. Life is good, NH is beautiful, and Ctale is doing fine.

Euripedes?

While chatting with the ac-tohr last night he mentioned the earliest theater he'd done was Shakespeare. I said, oh, so no Euripides, then? And he said "you mean Euripedes?" using a very high-falutin' pronunciation. And I called him on his ridiculous accent in a gentle way. Apparently, he had studied some ancient Greek dialects. He's also studied French and computer programming. Oh, and he pulled a Marlon Brando in a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream when they wouldn't let him take his shirt off after he'd gotten all buff and he went ahead and took it off anyway, to mix it up.

But really I'm writing this post to share a joke I learned when I talked about Euripides at the transcription office today:

A man brings a torn shirt into a Greek tailor.
The tailor says, "Euripides?"
And the man answers "Yes. Eumenides?"

I would also be remiss if I did not mention...

The swell card and birthday wishes and promises of delicious cake I received from one KLB, now KLB-H, who I have known for nearly 18 years now and makes sure everyone feels like a champion and remains the one person outside my family who has made me laugh until I nearly piss myself more times than I can count.

In which I am utterly surprised and pleased almost beyond the telling of it...

So it turns out I was not going to A's tonight to babysit and meet a cute man (although I did meet a cute man). I was going there for my first surprise birthday party, ever. About 10 people who are former coworkers (and friends) from the large 'n fancy consulting firm I worked at over a year ago now got together. The wee girlie I watch picked me out flowers. Two friends made me a beautiful pair of earrings and a necklace. Another pair got me a gift certificate to Dali, a swell restaurant in Cambridge. I got a card that says "Forget years, forget calories. If you must count something, count friends...That'll keep you busy." I got a silk scarf. And someone baked me a three-layer carrot cake.

Forgive me my verklemptness, but I feel really blessed and loved. Just yesterday I was saying to Dr. Moo that I don't have anyone to throw me a birthday party, and while it's not the end of the world, it makes me a little blue.

It turns out there are a lot of people out there who want to throw me a party. One of my birthday cards even sent me well wishes in three languages.

*happy sniffles* (and again apologies for the mushiness)
Yay! I feel further ready to face the world and give right back to it all the love it has given me.
: )

Babysitting and Babymaking

Tonight my dear friend A, the female of the couple who let me play Chewbacca, has a single man showing up at her door whilst I am babysitting. He is staying with them for a spell and can be a pizza hog, is an ac-tohr (her emphasis), and is African American/Caucasian. A is very, very optimistic about me and this man, but then she is an optimistic person. I for one am a little nervous but mostly world-weary. Yea, I shall tart myself up, but will wear nothing too low-cut, as I do not want minest boobies falling out while I chase the baby across the floor.

Another year older, another year closer to God

33 and I met today. She's not so bad. Not too much to report. Woke up around 8:15 at my parent's. Fed and walked Chauncey the Corgi, made (frozen) pancakes for the Babcia. Packed up and was on the road by 10. I got some tasty treats (although no cake) for myself at Whole Foods, and tried to find outfits at TJ Maxx but came away with a lone pair of pants. Then I went to the gym. Now I'm home and embarrassed to admit that I am being kept company by a rerun of Reba, on Lifetime.

It does sound a wee bit like a pathetic birthday, but really I had a bunch of mini-gifts all weekend long -- a visit with Cousin Molls and baby Trevor, who had picked me out a nifty card, the aforementioned hike, a dinner out with the Babcia (she treated) on Saturday night, and then lunch and apple picking on Sunday with OSB (who gave me a funky apron)and her baby, and the Babcia. It was Ella's (the baby)first time apple picking, and she managed to get a chunk of apple flesh out using only her two front teeth and her baby power.

I feel a wee bit sad to not have anyone with me tonight but overall I'm excited for the next year of my life, because I've got the feeling some pretty big, exciting, excellent things are coming.

This is a swell...

...representation of what the folks at the Deerfield Fair are like:

http://www.conmon.com/slideshow/Fair_Folks_SS/

(I am posting on a Mac so I can't do the linky thing)

The music is very, very stupid, however. The last picture is where Dr. Moo spent many a day, washing and shearing her sheep, then getting dressed up in an outfit she made herself out of wool, and parading her sheep around a dirt ring while a 4H leader read an essay DM had written about herself and her sheep. "Moo likes NKOTB while Aloe is a real whore for Saltines."

OK, the whore part wasn't mentioned, but it's true.

When the sheep got old, Moo put them to sleep, then had them cremated and had their ashes spread on the grounds of the sheep area. We made sure to visit them. One other item of note: there were a shockingly low number of cows in the barns at the fair this year, due to the price of milk and the Dutch dairy mafia. Happy cows may come from California, but if they act sad they'll end up in the Pacific wearing two pair of cement shoes, if you catch my drift. A lot of the New England dairy farmers just didn't have the money to go to the fair this year, which is something that hasn't ever happened, at least in my memory. It's sad.

Leaf Peeping

I hiked Welch-Dickey today, a 4.4 mile popular loop that is a decent workout and was crawling with leaf-peepers. I did my best to be friendly, and mostly was, because, after all, it is not MY mountain or MY planet; it belongs to us all, even the brats and the loud people who hike in jeans.

I did manage to go down a semi-secret side trail on one of the peaks and I had a good 20 minutes of silence, during which I put forth some intentions for my 33rd year, and meditated, and felt the sun on my face, and the sweet strong pulse of the earth underneath me. It felt so, so good. Like I was plugging in. I think I spent too much time away from the woods this summer.

When I got up there were a couple of bugs on me, one beetle, who ambled off, and a small brown spider with a velvety back, who ended up sort of straightening out his eight legs and hiding in one of the wrinkles in my pants, waiting to ambush some lunch. He and I had a great big slab of rock and miles of view, reds and greens and yellows, and blue sky, and fresh air, all to ourselves for awhile. It was a real gift.

Yin and Yang

Last night's dinner: App order of sashimi, 2 pieces sake salmon, 1 "fantasy" roll (not that fantasy-tastic), 1 app order edamame. 1 chocolate chip cookie for dessert.

Tonight's dinner: Steak tips cooked medium rare with fried scallops, french fries, bread and butter, and coleslaw. Slice of pumpkin sponge cake with cream-cheese filling and pecans, with 2 scoops of german chocolate cake ice cream for dessert. I did bring most of the sponge cake home.

Shuffle off to Buffalo

So this is Dr. Moo with Buster Buffalo, who is three and a half years old. He is a big fan of apples. Moo was at Buster's farm helping Blueberry Buffalo, who is just a baby, and was down with dysentery. Dr. Moo went to UVM (UPDATE: Um, I mean Virginia Tech) for undergrad, and one of her professors there was on public radio, like, all the time, talking about the Civil War in a Shelby Foote accent and he did a long treatise on soldiers "dying of dysentewy...mow commonly known as diaawhea."

Now it is a sad thing indeed to die of dysentery, but trust me, it's not sad enough to stop you from laughing when you hear the word "diarrhea" said with a southern drawl and a lisp.

The definition of friendship...

...is when the people whose daughter you were babysitting on their wedding anniversary come home earlier than expected, while you still have your sheets and towels in their dryer, and they watch the rest of the episode of Futurama where Richard Nixon's head runs for President with you, even though they've already seen it, and then, after you've folded the clothes from your first load of laundry, break out the Star Wars video game, where you get to be Chewbacca.

The T, She is a-changin'

I got to ride in one of the new T test cars on the ride home from work today. The strap handles feel very Rhoda to me while the seat pattern feels more a cross between Saved by the Bell, Square Pegs, and Miami Vice. The only real problem I see is that 1, the seats are wicked ugly and, 2, someone could spill something on them or pee in them and you wouldn't know it, whereas on the pleather seats of old, there would be a big puddle.

Also, T operators? I wouldn't brag about how vandalism-resistant they are.

Obsession

When I get sick, while I wouldn't say I take my temperature every five minutes, I do take it relatively frequently, and I am currently running a slight fever.

Exciting, I know. I'll try more when I'm not sick to keep this blog from getting fucking boring.

Anyhoo I noticed I was feeling really hot and had a headache and that's when I got out my trusty no-name digital thermometer and stuck it up my butt!

OK, I didn't stick it up my butt.

But, and McMumsy will be pleased to hear this, my illness did not stop me from a two-hour workout, a regular workday, and a jaunt to the farmer's market to get vittles for the dinner I am preparing this evening: a salad of organic argula, spinach, easter egg radishes, and heirloom tomatoes with chopped walnuts and Parmesan cheese. Three-cheese tortellini with shrimp, mushrooms, and zucchini in a butter/lemon/garlic sauce.

And for dessert?

Flan from a can!

Meow

Just so you know, this came to me when I was sitting on the potty.

I was flipping through the ridiculous Why Cats Paint (given to me as an early birthday gift by Dr. Moo), wearing a t-shirt with an giant red befanged feline on it and resting my feet on a lime green area rug with a larger-than-life blue-eyed kitten at its center while in another room, my big grey kitty napped on her Pottery Barn ottoman in the sun when it came to me.

I am a Crazy Cat Lady. Wait, not just Crazy. Batshit Crazy. Oh well. At least I'm not a Batshit Crazy Cat Hoarder.

Chewing up the scenery

OK, so I'm full of crap about the being too sick to exercise thing since I came home from the transcription office feeling icky today and climbed right into bed instead of going to yoga. Then I got up, ostensibly to clean as I am cooking dinner for L (who recently broke up with her boyfriend) tomorrow night but discovered the We channel is running that Audrey Hepburn biopic starring Jennifer Love Hewitt.

Wow is she a terrible actress. The accent. The looks. The emoting. Horrible, all of it! Good lord!

And yet I cannot stop watching...

Ow

I'm sick. Again. And pissed, because I eat my vegetables, lots of them, and exercise, and I never get sick and now I'm ill for the second time in a month. This time around it's a sore, sore, scratchy, itchy throat, a bit of sneezing, and the ever-lovely exhaustion. I got up and ran six miles, because I think I might still exercise even if one of my limbs was hanging on by a tendon. Then called the transcription agency. They didn't have work (don't worry, McMumsy, I have work from the Indian firm) so I went to bed for two hours. Then I had lunch and took the T to the office to get my power cord so I can hopefully get some work done tonight.

Where is the strong and handsome bf to go out and buy me a big bowl of pho? Rowr!

Firefighter

So just so none of my wonderful friends who I love dearly get their hopes up about the firefighter…I don’t think we really had anything in common, other than that I really, really wanted to have sex with him and I’m pretty sure he would have been happy to have sex with me. Since I went off the pill I have been, like, ragingly horny. Essentially I feel like this big walking ball of horniness. I feel very full of whatever it is that makes you want to mate. Not with anyone, mind you, because a girl has to have standards.

But with a dark-haired manly man firefighter with nicely-sized muscles? Definitely. Damn, he was fine.

Eating a sandwich in the Sandwich Range Wilderness, Part II

This time it was all-natural unsalted peanut butter and cherry jam on oat-nut bread on top of Sandwich Mountain. I did an 8.7 mile loop on Saturday, solo again. I’m really loving hiking by myself, I have to say. It’s a natural extension of my life at the moment, and if I’m going to spend a lot of time alone, why not have it be in the woods? Also when I was little I did this a lot – hang out by myself in the forest. Maybe I was a mushroom or a blue spruce in a past life. Although I was more than likely a gooney-bird.

It was gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous on Saturday and on my way down the mountain I walked for a while through a stand of birches and it was just like I imagined it would be, with the yellow leaves of the tree against the blue sky, and Drake’s Brook to my right, and red maple leaves mixed with the yellow leaves on the ground. Ah, I was never good at poetry, but trust me, it would make your heart sing to be there. It would make you believe in things greater than yourself.

From the files of Dr. Moo...

…and not for the weak of stomach, so if you are easily grossed out, stop reading now.

Recently, Moo was called to a farm to help remove a five-months along fetus from a cow that was aborting it. She had to crush its skull to get it out. After she’d finished the job, she looked back to see the mother cow licking at the aborted fetus. How sweet, thought Moo, the mother cow loves her baby. Then she realized the mother cow was in fact eating the fetus.