Although I wrote this as a silly spoof, there are those who offer animal “psychiatric” services. They have done their schooling in the trenches of telemarketing or carnival barking and have moved on. They are acutely aware that most times it is not the patient who needs counseling but rather the owner. Nil explota barboocado. . . . No harm done.

COW PSYCHOLOGIST

“Doc, I’ve got a heifer that just had a calf. She’s not accepting it very well. Can I bring her in for psychological counseling?”

It all started with that call from the worried cowman. My veterinary specialty of cow psychology had gained popularity since my article appeared. It was titled “Paranoia in Dairy Cows” (Doctor, somebody’s always tryin’ to take something from me!).

I let the heifer get comfortable on the straw.

“Now, Miss Lay . . .”

“Call me Char.”

“Char, tell me why you feel uncomfortable with your new calf.”

“It reminds me of my past.”

“How did you and your mother get along?”

“Same as any cow-calf pair, I guess, although she was pretty high in the peckin’ order. It put a lot of pressure on me to achieve.

“Like at the branding. I had to be first! Unfortunately, they let the local banker and the vet rope first. Took forever.

“I remember when I got my horns. A lot of other heifers hadn’t started growing horns yet. They were jealous. It wasn’t my fault the bull calves thought I was attractive.

“But everything turned sour when they ear tagged me! Yellow! Can you believe it? Yellow! I’ve never been so embarrassed!

“Then I got a 104 temperature! I felt so left out. I was hospitalized, intravenous injections and everything!

“Finally last spring I met this bull. We made plans. He had a future, had cute rounds, too! I was blind to what was going on around me. I didn’t believe the rumors that he’d been seen with other heifers. Then it was too late!

“I had a tough gestation, morning sickness, strange cravings for mint silage and bonemeal. Then I had little Bully.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m depressed. Is this all there is to life . . . eat grass, have a calf?”

“Char,” I said, “you’re a cow. You’ve got to accept it. You’ll never run in the Kentucky Derby or hunt pheasant. You’ll never dance on stage or sing like Reba. Be satisfied with the bovine things you do well.”

She looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Doctor.” And she left.

As I reflected on Char and my unique veterinary specialty, I realized how lucky I was to have a job that was so satisfying and so easy.

Yup, the world would be a kinder, gentler place if everyone had the IQ of a cow.