I bought a cow last week. It was an unforgettable experience. I’m sure most farmers don’t give such a venture too much thought but for me, having morphed from a country gal to a city slicker, it was different.

Even from the start I wasn’t sure I wanted to buy the cow. But now I’d saved up the money and decided to put my concerns aside and go for it.

I suppose I shouldn’t have felt nervous. After all, I knew a thing or two about cows and I actually liked them when I was growing up on a Co. Limerick farm.

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I had been to marts too. Once my friend and I even sneaked out of the local secondary school and hitched a lift to the mart in Kilmallock. But on that occasion our intended entertainment was to view the men not the farm stock. Still, I told myself, I wasn’t a complete novice.

So when I set out from Dublin on a bright May morning for the pastures of Waterford, where the cow resided, I felt a sense of excitement mixed with a little trepidation.

How would I make sure the cow was the best one to buy? Then there was the price to worry about. I was good at haggling, though, so I hoped my nerve would hold on that score.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The owner was a very decent woman and I felt I had struck a good bargain. With the deal done, we chatted over tea and sandwiches. Then we loaded the cow and I drove off for Dublin.

That’s when the trouble started. I decided to stop in a village for a quick cup of tea. But what to do with the cow? I decided it would be quite safe as I could see the trailer from the café. Ten minutes later, disaster struck. When I came out the trailer was still there but the cow was missing.

I felt bereft. But who would steal a cow and leave a trailer? It didn’t make a lot of sense. Then it dawned on me – I had forgotten to lock up the trailer. The cow must have simply pushed it open and gone for a stroll in the village. At least that’s what the Garda told me when he approached, cow in tow. “I apprehended the culprit,” he declared triumphantly.

Reunited, we set off for the remainder of the journey back to Dublin. It was uneventful. That was until we arrived in the city itself. What on earth was I thinking about? Where could you put a large cow in a small housing estate?

“Right there,” my sister suggested. She was pointing to the dining room. To be precise, she was pointing to the dining room wall. She was right, of course.

It was the perfect place to hang my cow painting!