A short story by aidan and joey gates. ( ages 5 and 6 )
The cow said “Howdy, grandma!” “Oh, my goodness!” said grandma. Grandma called the cowboys. “Why is there a cow in my room?” The cowboys took their cowboy guns, and their hats, and they took the cow home. The cow said “Oh, alright. I just wanted to ask her if she wanted any milk.”
The End
(My two nephews wanted to “help” me tell a cow story, so I decided to encourage this. 
My version is below.)
“My land, it’s hot today! Don’t you think so, girl?” I looked over at the man walking at my side, and rolled my eyes. “Like you’d care if I did.” “What? Who said that? C’mon, show yerselves, you cowards! You think just because I’m old, you can play tricks on me?”
I blinked, and shook my head. Had he actually heard me? I decided to try an experiment. Keeping my head down, pretending to eat a tasty bit of grass, I said “You -are- old. If I wasn’t here, you’d just sit on the porch all day.”
Well, you should’ve seen it! He jumped so high, I thought he was going to break a leg and I’d have to carry him home, again. But, how had this happened? I glanced at him as he stood, staring at me, then around at the woods, then back at me. “Welp, it finally happened. Must be senile. Hearing things…”
I rolled my eyes again, and shook my head. “You ain’t senile, you old coot. I don’t know how you can hear me now, when you never did before, but face it. I’m talking. To you. And yeah, it’s hot out here…can we please head on home?”
The look on his face was priceless. He stared so hard I truly thought his eyeballs were gonna fall out. He stammered a bit, shook himself all over like a dog, then looked at me again. “Is that…really you, girl? I’m not hearing things?”
“Well, you -are- hearing things…technically, I am a thing…but yeah, it’s me. Can we go home now? I want a drink and a shady patch…” Mostly what I wanted was to be alone to work out this whole talking thing, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
He nodded, almost reflexively, still staring wide-eyed at me. Then a slow grin stole over his face. “A talking cow. Well, I’ll be hornswoggled and horsewhipped. What’ya know…I’m gonna be rich!”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all, but I decided to let it go for now. “And while you can hear me, let me just say that the quality of your hay recently has sunk to new levels. It’s smells musty and damp, and it tastes like sour wood. And you could stand to clean out the trough sometimes, too.”
He just blinked, that silly grin still on his face, dreams in his eyes. He turned, waited till I turned, and we started to head toward home.
“And another thing…”
The End
