My History with Animals

My dad, who liked confusing little kids, used to sing: “Of all the creatures who have wings, I prefer the flying pig.” At first, I was suspicious of the song, and later on it annoyed me. When I was about six, he would take me for walks around the outskirts of Moreno, a town that turned into pasture if you strayed eight blocks from the main street and where, behind a wire fence, stood the plumpest cows I had ever seen.

“Say good morning.” “Good morning, cow.”

If one of them mooed, he would say, “See? She’s saying it back.”