“What was that all about?” I asked. 

“I just felt like singing,” Celeste said. 

“Oh, that’s what you were doing — singing,” Geoff teased. “I’m not sure Simon Cowell would agree.” 

“Silent Cow?” I said, completely confused. “I don’t get it. What’s a silent cow have to do with her singing?” 

Celeste and Geoff exchanged amused glances and a few chuckles leaked out. 

“What?” I said, wanting in on the joke. “I must’ve misheard.” 

“Miss Herd,” Celeste said. “Is she like Miss Piggy?” 

“Sort of,” said Geoff. “Except she’s silent.” 

When they were done laughing at rather than with me, they explained, but it was too late. The damage was done. The cow puns had been freed, and there was no calling back the stampede. 

For hours, the puns continued. Sure, the udder nonsense was fun for a while, but holy cow! That kind of herd mentality can be draining. 

“Isn’t it pasture bedtime?” I said. 

Celeste mumbled something about kissing and her “dairy-air,” then — with just a little more prodding — hoofed it up to her room to hit the hay. 

Just then, a strange feeling of familiarity washed over me. I was about to chalk it up as just another instance of deja moo when I realized it was right about this time last summer when I had a similarly bovine-themed conversation with my friend Julie Blackwood. We’d dressed up like cows to get a free lunch for Chick-Fil-A’s annual Cow Appreciation Day. 

I checked with Julie. Sure enough, the date for this year’s event was fast approaching. 

“Shouldn’t that be Cow Uh-preciation Day?” I asked her. “Then the acronym would be ‘CUD.’” 

“Does seem more appropriate,” said Julie. 

“So we’re on again this year? You don’t think it’s a bad omen that it’s on Friday the 13th?” 

“Just bad for the chikins,” said Julie. The words of a true believer. (A believer in how to score a free lunch.) 

“Anyone going with us?” I asked. 

“Not sure,” said she. After hearing about our adventure last year, several friends and co-workers swore they’d be joining our next cattle drive. We’re betting they’ll chikin out.

Historically, the Charleston Chick-Fil-A has only attracted a couple of cows, but Julie and I both sincerely hope that’s going to change, partly because this is exactly the kind of thing that demonstrates what a fun place Charleston can be — a place where people aren’t afraid to dress silly and go out in public. (And partly because if there’s a bunch of other people dressed like cows, we won’t feel so dumb.)

So c’mon. Help us milk this day for all that it’s worth. Slap on some spots. Tack on a cow tail.

As for me, I’ll be donning a pair of cow ears and insulting everyone I see in my best rude English accent.

Because this year I plan to attend dressed as Simon Cow.