Cowtown

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    This is home to me. My family lives in a town of about 3,000 people, and it's a town that I say has more cows than humans living in it. My grandparents have owned a farm here for my entire life, so whenever I visit, it is just me, my family, and the hundreds of cows that surround the house. It is quite beautiful and quiet, with occasional moo's being heard in the distance. It isn't the Cowtown people in Fort Worth know and love, but it is the cowtown that I have grown to know and love. 

    Many memories are tied to these cows. Last Easter, my family played baseball in the front yard, and who made up the audience? The cows! They were awfully talkative that day, so I am convinced that they were just cheering me on. My brother-in-law hit a home run and the cows went wild (partly because it was headed right at them)! 

    Two years ago, my cousin's farm dog, Woody, went missing. It was on Thanksgiving Day that year that we found Woody simply relaxing in the pasture with the cows. The cows really took him in and embraced him as their own, and Woody would just roam the pasture with them and keep them company. To this day, this friendship has yet to be broken as he continues to pay them a visit from time to time.
    
    Lastly, today the cows have been a friend to me. I went of a stroll through the land to relax from a busy week of school and they didn't seem to mind. They continued to eat their grass as I just stood there and watched. They are comforting to me, which some may see as odd. But while some grew up in the Cowtown, I grew up in my own cowtown. 

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