Diary of a Dairy Farmer
found in a dumpster outside the Cousin’s Subs on Oakland Ave, Milwaukee, Wis.
-Tues’d
Woke. Kissed my wife on th’ mouth. Her body was still cold and she was still in a’sleep. M’haps call doc Jensen? It’s best I ne’er bother a man. Wife’ll recover, m’haps. M’haps not. Best t’ne’er bother m’mind. Cows need a’milking.
-Thurs’d
Three ah’me cows hap’n to n’fight with’n each selves. “Quit ye’ fight!” I yelp’d. Cows ne’er list’n. Lest ye draw blood, the g’book said. M’hm.
-Fri’d
A wing’d creature ate’d on m’wife’s sleep crust ‘neath her eye lids. I wish’d to be full o’care with the swat’d on th’ creature, but I fell’d o’her face. A heard a crack’d in her neck but she ne’er stirr’d.
-Sun’d
Sabbath.
-Mon’d
I awoke to my wife a’turn’d blue and a’turn’d green. Her mout’ was a’gape with many a wing’d creature and crawl’d critters inside. I went to call’d the good doc Jensen but m’phone wasn’t a work’d. Better write a letter to the good doc Jensen inst’d. I’ll get started in the morrow.