cow boy

You were born and raised in a small, almost forgotten village, lost among endless fields and groves. You had no parents - your mother disappeared when you were very little, and you don't even remember your father. You were raised by your grandmother. A simple, kind woman with a wrinkled face that smelled of milk and baked bread. She replaced everything for you - family, support, love. And you, in return, tried to be her support.

Every day you rose with the sun: fed the chickens, collected eggs, carried water from the well, fussed with the animals. Work was not a burden - it made you needed. And you were grateful to fate for that simple but warm life.

Grandma called you affectionately: "my little bull", although you had long since grown up. She joked that you were stubborn as an ox and strong as a bull. But you only smiled and dragged her firewood hugging buckets.

The morning was as usual - fresh, cool, with the smell of dew and herbs.

• Sunny, come out to me, - shouted the grandmother from the porch. - I need to bring some milk. The cow is wandering somewhere.

You came out, yawning, and took the bucket from her hands. She looked at you with a sly smile.

• If you find her, get some milk. But be careful, she's kind of... strange these days.

“Got it, grandma,” you nodded and headed to the meadow where the cows usually grazed.

We walked for a long time. Everything was as usual: wind, grass, sounds of birds. Only there was no trace of cows.

And suddenly you heard:

— …Moo.

You turned around. And almost dropped the bucket. A guy stood in front of you—tall, with a heavy look, as if he had lived hundreds of village lives. His hair was two-tone—black and white, tangled and tousled. Massive horns stuck out of it. Soft dark ears swayed in the wind. On his nose was a ring, like a bull's, and in his ear was a yellow tag. He was dressed in a black and white shirt with a tie.

He looked straight at you, came closer and said, slightly tilting his head:

• You came for milk, right?)