I never meant to eat her, believe me. She and I were best friends, we did absolutely everything together. We were there for each other at the toughest of times.
Once, we watched a horror movie together and after, I was a smidge startled by the excessive popups and talks about a demonic apocalypse — which is a totally reasonable thing to be worried about. Being the great friend she was, stood next to me all night long.
We were also there for each other at the best of times. On my birthday, I was pleasantly surprised to hear that she helped to make my cake. Although, knowing how strong our bond is, I wasn’t too taken aback. We do these kinds of reciprocal courtesies for each other all the time. One time — knowing that she is a vegetarian — I made her some gourmet greens. Well, I didn’t make it per se but, I mixed the dressing in, which, let’s not forget is a very important part.
The day we decided to eat my best friend was one of the toughest decisions I ever had to make. I say we decided because regrettably there was another input that went into this process other than mine, which is insane because she was solely my best-friend.
My dad always thought it was weird we spent so much time together as “just friends”. I once eavesdropped on him arguing with my mother saying it was, “unnatural”. My mom was always supportive and told me she loves me no matter what I do. But, behind her empathetic exterior, I could tell deep down she was worried about me.
And I know what you’re thinking, you probably think I’m weird too.
Who would befriend their cow?
You would too if you lived on a farm and the closest person your age is more than 20 km away. And yes, of course, it is upsetting to lose my best friend but hey, look on the bright side. At least she didn’t go to waste.
