Marge was COWNAPPED!

I arrived at Zoomies & Purr this morning like a PROFESSIONAL.
A working dog.
A community figure.
A man with a schedule and a cow.

I went straight to my toy box because that is where Marge lives. She is my emotional support cow, my squeaky confidant, my ride-or-die ruminant. I opened the box.

EMPTY.

No cow.
No squeak.
No dignity.

I stared into the void. The void stared back. I laughed once — a sharp, brittle laugh — because surely this was a joke the universe would immediately correct.

It did not.

I pawed the box. I shoved my face into it. I flipped toys like I was searching for answers in a cereal box. Nothing. Just rope. Just lies.

Friends… Marge does not leave the store.
Marge clocks in here.
Marge has a WORK ETHIC.

Which means the unthinkable had occurred.

MARGE. WAS. COWNAPPED. AT. WORK.

I lost my mind.

I began running laps around the store like a dog in a true-crime reenactment. I dove under shelves. I body-checked a display (lightly, for drama). I laughed hysterically while muttering things like, “This is fine,” and “We’re fine,” and “Someone is going to jail.”

Customers froze. Humans whispered. I bark-laughed. I sniffed everything — the floor, the counter, a man’s shoe, the concept of betrayal.

I imagined Marge being smuggled out in a tote bag. I imagined her squeaking her last squeak somewhere dark and unfamiliar. I imagined myself testifying before a jury: She was a good cow. She squeaked on command.

I demanded answers with my eyes.
I accused everyone with my curls.

Then —
like a flashback in a soap opera — it hit me.

Yesterday.

A child entered the store.

A tiny agent of chaos.

He had apple slices.

I remembered holding Marge proudly in my mouth. I remembered thinking, I’ll put her back in her box in just one second. I remembered apple slices hitting the floor. I remembered applause. I remembered absolutely abandoning responsibility.

The humans kept searching.

And then someone yelled, “HARRY—”

There she was.

Behind a food display.

Just… sitting there.
Fine.
Alive.
Judging me.

I lost it.

I laughed like a maniac. I spun. I squeaked her myself. I flopped on the floor like I had just survived a maritime disaster. Marge had not been cownapped.

I had simply set her down mid-apple and walked away like a menace.

Now some might say the lesson here is that I should put my toys away.

Absolutely not.

The lesson is this:
If I am running customer relations, accepting produce, and maintaining the brand image of Zoomies & Purr, SOMEONE ELSE SHOULD BE IN CHARGE OF PUTTING MY COW BACK IN THE BOX.

I am not a storage system.
I am a dog.

Marge is back in her toy box now.
The humans did that.
They were shaking a little, but they did it.

The store survived.
The cow survived.
My reputation remains questionably intact.

And if Marge ever goes missing again, I will not be calm.
I will be louder.
And I will immediately blame the humans.

— Harry Manilow