I have a confession to make. I love pretty cows.
It’s true. They are my guilty pleasure. There is something beautiful and majestic about a cow that stands 65 inches tall at the hip, with her long, lean neck stretched out as she glides around a show ring. Silky, shiny and ultra-dairy, with ribs wide enough to fit a fist between and an out-of-this-world udder glossed up and bagged tight with milk.