In the blood

Jen and I spent the morning rounding up cows with our farmer friend.

At one point, I found myself walking along a track, talking with the farmer's four-year-old grandson:

Farmer's grandson: [Waving blue drain-rod around his head] I've got a walking-stick!
Me: That's not really a walking-stick. Do you know what it's really for?
Farmer's grandson: Hitting cows with.

I must say, he's a very observant young lad.


See also:

By Richard Carter

A fat, bearded chap with a Charles Darwin fixation.

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