One of the animal groups we had on our farm was cows. Not just a couple. We had lots and lots and lots of cows. And a bull. Black Angus. Do you know what a bull likes to do? I know this is the Blaze loop, but no, I’m not talking about that. Bulls like to take down pasture fences. At 1 friggin’ 30 in the a.m. And you know what happens then? You get a call at 2 friggin’ a.m. telling you the cows are out and the whole household has to go out in pajamas and round the damn cows up and herd them back into another pasture.

I’m really not so fond of cows.

My husband used to have this crazy fantasy that we’d buy 20 acres somewhere even further out than the suburban hinterlands we live in now and he’d have himself some cows. Really, he’s clueless. But I quickly clued him in that he’d have to live out that fantasy with his next wife.

Anywho — stick with me here, I have a way of going around my ass to get to my elbow — Brenda Chin bought my first book (a Duets) in 1999 and that was the first year I went to National Conference (that disaster is a whole nother blog a whole nother time.) The conference was in Chicago that year. I was THRILLED to be there — trust me, there’s nothing quite as exciting as attending your first national conference as a newly bought author.

Also in Chicago, along with the RWA conference, was the Cows on Parade.

I absolutely ADORED these. And they were part of what was a very special experience for me.

Fast forward from Chicago conference in July 1999 to early September 2000. It was another exciting day in the fascinating, sophisticated life of Jennifer LaBrecque — prepare to be wowed here…. I drove out to my local feed store in my mini-van to pick up dog food. See? Glamorous and exciting, no? But actually that day it was, well, exciting, though not exactly glamorous. I pulled into the parking lot of the feed’n seed store and there stood a herd of life-sized, fiberglass cows. It wasn’t even a conscious thought, it was more of a knowing. I HAD TO HAVE ONE. I could artistically interpret and have my own Cow on Parade that I’d seen and loved at my very first national conference.

I perused the herd. While the entire ten were all exactly alike, one in particular spoke to me. She was now mine…or would be soon. I had the store owner tag her. I bought my dog food. I made the trek home.

September is my birth month. I called my DH.

“I found what I want for my birthday. You just have to pay for it and trailer it home.”

“Trailer it? What do you want?”

“I found this cow out at the feed store.”

*long, pregnant silence*

“You don’t like cows. And…uh…we live in a suburb.”

“She’s fiberglass…and I already love her…I HAVE to have her.”

He indulged my quirkiness. I got her. He trailered her home and had her delivered as a surprise on my birthday. Here’s My Cow Pattie.

So…it’s only 9 years later and my full extent of artistically interpreting her has been to paint her eyes red with purple squiggles. Hey, maybe one day. But I am still enamoured of her. And she’s a real conversation piece for people who actually come into the house and see her in the back yard. “Uh…why is there a cow in your back yard?” It sort of works with the whole artist/quirky thing. And my husband got his cow fix without 20 acres.

Now, before I wind this up…and, yeah, it’s about time…have you noticed this all goes back to Brenda Chin? Blame it on Brenda. If she hadn’t bought me, I’d never have shown up in Chicago in July 1999 and seen Cows on Parade. Therefore, when I saw the herd later at the feed store it would’ve merely elicited a shudder from childhood memories of herding cows at 2 a.m. rather than one of the finest moments of my life. Yep…it’s all Brenda’s fault.

So, do you have a spot of quirky you’d like to share? Go ahead. I’m convinced everyone has a quirky side.