Ever since my first $5 velvet tiger bought at a flea market when I was 12, I’ve been a fan of animal art. My mother, whose taste runs more to lighthouses and anything by Thomas Kincaid, was flummoxed but tolerant, as long as I kept it all in my room and away from her floral landscapes.
People who come to my house these days are unsurprised at the amount of animal art we have. Sure, it’s not the only thing we have on our walls, but in the grand scheme of things one could easily deduce we like little creatures. Wooden giraffe. A bronze cat. A painting of Emmett. What I did not have, however, was a cow. It wasn’t something I thought about, or laid long nights awake thinking, “You know what I need here in this house? A depiction of a bovine.”
And yet when I saw it, I had to have it.
I’m not sure what exactly about this cow (her name, according to the title, is Geraldine) appealed so much to me, but her face just instantly made me smile. It’s that combination of guilelessness, mild interest, and derpiness that I can’t resist. She has Brody’s eyes and Kekoa’s nose.
HELLO I AM A COW
My husband, who had already moved past this piece in the small beachside store and was looking at candlesticks, saw me going back and forth, back and forth in front of the painting as it hung out by its lonesome out on the front porch.. He looked at the price tag. It was priced to moo-ve. Geraldine had been out to pasture for a bit, apparently.
“You like it, don’t you?” he asked.
“I do,” I said.
“Where would you put it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the hallway outside the kids’ rooms?”
A few hours later, I left Geraldine reclining in the entryway while I gathered the kids, who would surely delight in this whimsical piece of colorful art soon to be greeting them every morning.
“What’s THAT?” asked my son dubiously.
“It’s a cow,” said my daughter. “I think.”
“YES it’s a cow,” I said. “Isn’t it cute?”
“……um, sure,” said my daughter. “Where are you going to put it?”
“In your hallway!” I said, as my son wrinkled his nose. “Or did you have a better idea?”
“It should totally go in your bedroom,” said my daughter. “It’s perfect for there.”
My son agreed. “We were going for a Frozen/Minecraft thing upstairs,” he reminded me. I think it’s fair to say tastes skip a generation. My husband looked briefly horrified at the thought that this would not be secreted upstairs but would in fact greet him each and every morning, staring him down as he brushes his teeth, but to his credit he recovered quickly.
Clearly, Geraldine and I are meant to be together, a face only a veterinarian could (does) love. I have placed her assertively across from the doorway to the bedroom so the second you open the door you are greeted with Geraldine’s quizzical face.
Everyone’s a critic these days. Ah well.