“Ooo, this is good tasting grass,” Fleegle says between bites as he grazes on the fresh spring growth. After he’s had his fill, he lifts his leg on the nearest upright object, a rhododendron shrub, and takes one of the longest pees ever.

“Fleegle, haven’t you peed on that rhodie enough? You’re going to kill it if you don’t spread your wiz around.”

“Hey, I’m writing a poem. It may not be the best poem ever, but it’s not that bad.”

“And what’s your poem about?”

“It’s a love poem to grass. In my next life I want to be born a cow. I’ll stand around all day and do nothing but graze in the fields.”

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