Where's The Beef?

Years ago, when our kids were, well, kids, we used to tear up and down the A1 in our Hillman Avenger spotting cows in the fields between Lincolnshire and Tyneside and, later, Glasgow and London. Our family song - since passed on to Canadian grandkids Kyle and Cameron - consisted of four lines, sung/howled/screamed alternatively by whoever was in the car at the time:

Where are the milkies?
Where are the milkies today-ay-ay?
Where are the milkies?
(Insert name here) has thrown them away -ay-ay

Forgive us, we were/are all young and foolish . . .

Today, Jools and I decided we'd lighten up the daily blip (see yesterday's) and spend the time before the England-Italy soccer game remembering the old days by photographing cows. We live in prime farming country in the green belt outside Toronto. Dozens of farms. Prime dairy country. Easy. Except . . .

We couldn't find a bloody cow anywhere. A couple of horses, Ducks. Chickens. Fields of corn. Farm implements by the ton. But nary a bovine in sight. So we went to Andrews Scenic Acres, a place where strawberries are picked by back-aching families, horses ridden by squealing city children and farm animals eyed warily by all. We saw chickens, sheep, goats. No cows.

So, here you are. Not a cow. A goat. But the image is remarkably apt. Soon after, we were watching the soccer and whenever Rooney got the ball, I swear this image flashed in front of my eyes.