Scottish Cow

The only cow in a small town in Ireland stopped giving milk.


The town folk heard they could buy a cow in Scotland quite cheaply, which in Scotland is...unusual. They journeyed to the land of Robbie Burns, discovered the inhabitants had ransacked the local distillery and were drunker even than the Irish, bought the cow cheaply and returned to Eire.


The cow was, comment on dit, Awesome. Yes. Awesome. That is to say, it produced excellent milk in quantity. This is the definition of Awesome.


The Eireans, desirous of creating a herd, procured a massive payout from Brussels, drank most of it, then hired a prize-winning stud bull to mate with the cow--her name was Fionnula. If/when they sobered up, they would never have to worry about milk again.


They installed the bull in the pasture and escorted Fionnula into his presence with great enthusiasm, winking, nudging, etc.


Alas, whenever the bull tried to mount the cow, the cow would move away.


No matter what approach the bull tried, the cow would move away from the bull and he--his name was John Thomas--was never able to fulfill his genetic destiny.


And lo, The People were upset and decided to bring in the veterinarian who was very wise and known the world over.


"Whenever Johnny tries to mount our cow, she moves away. If he approaches from the back, she moves forward. When he approaches her from the front, she backs off. If he attempts from the side, she walks away to the other side."


The vet rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pondered this before asking,


"Did ya by chance, buy the feckin cow in Scotland?"


The People were dumbfounded. No one had mentioned to the vet they had brought the cow over from Scotland.


"Verily, thou art truly wise, Vettie," they cried in unison. "Prithee, how did you know we got the cow from Scotland?"


The vet replied with a distant look in his eye.


"My wife is from Scotland."


.