Conversation

        Between me (Cathy) and my brother (Chris)

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Chris looked at me.  "I just had a cup of that new decaffinated stuff." he said.

"No", I retorted, "that's the condition of a cow who just gave birth.  De-CALF-inated.  See?"

Silence.

"What...?"  Chris said.  "And I suppose Russians get their milk from MosCOWS?!  Ludds, you're nuts."

"Yeah."

Chris started walking away.

"Awwww, don't be so cow-towed, Chris!"  I yelled.  He walked faster.

"So where ya going, huh?  The mooo-vies?" 

Now he kicked into a full run, stiffling giggles.  I couldn't resist.

"Gee Chris, you're so mooo-dy."  I shouted.  "Come on, wait up!  I can't mooo-ve as fast as you!"

Distinct sounds of laughter coming from Chris now.  He started to slow down, finally stopping with his hands on his knees, head bent down, trying to catch his breath. 

"You're an idiot, Cath."  he managed.

"Yeah, I know."

Chris looked pensive.  "Hey, write those down, and any more you can think of, I have a friend who loves stuff like that."

I thought about it.  "Is he a COWboy?"  I asked?

Moans from Chris.  "No, he's a park supervisor."

"Does he look for moose?  You know, MOO-se?"  I asked with the devil's own smirk.

Chris turned from me, cupping his mouth.

"You think your COWboy friend herds MOO-se?  What do they call guys like that, Mooseboys?"  Chris's eyes were starting to water. 

"Why would anyone need to herd Moose anyway?  Why not owls?  Say!  If an owl got hit with an awl, would it hurt more?"  I pondered.  "What about a trowel?" I mused.  "Why do owls hoot and wolves howl, do you think?"  I looked straight at Chris. 

He couldn't speak, his speech center was choked off by laughter.

"Howling owls, imagine ...." I said slowly, rubbing my chin.

Last I saw Chris, he was sitting at the table, writing something down.

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