The cow costume upstairs, the floppy felt ears, the little felt horns, the laughing, the grocery store, the narrow aisle with the milk behind all that glass, the cheese, the yogurt, the meat aisle where Shea vomited into a trash can while the cow costume kept smiling its stupid felt smile. The small car like a cage. The pasture beside the road. Shea rolling down the window and calling, “Mack!” One of the cows lifting its head and walking toward the road, slowly at first as though remembering something. Nora driving past. Shea mooing into the couch cushions until the mooing and crying became the same sound. The baby gate for the dog. The kitchen island. The bookshelves. The walls. All the little fences that had been there the whole time. The cow costume beginning to feel like something built. The zipper that wouldn't open. Nora pulling. Both of them falling backward onto the carpet, laughing until Shea began to cry again. The fence around the yard. The fence around the playground. The fence around the retention pond. Guardrails. Parking lots. Traffic lanes. The white lines painted on asphalt. STOP and YIELD signs like invisible fencing. The whole neighborhood arranged for moving from one enclosure to another. A cow standing behind a fence where there had never been either a cow nor a fence before, already looking at Shea. “Is your name Krissy?” The cow nodded. Shea now grazing. The backyard. The grass. The neighbor's yard. The fence between the yards. The floppy ears drooping. The felt horns pointing nowhere in particular. Shea chewing grass and looking at the fence. That evening the neighbor looked over the fence and asked, “Long day?” and Shea nodded, while Nora sat nearby with black Sharpie spots on her arms and felt ears on a headband, and they mooed together, laughing until it was dark.
