Erma

    Sitting on a stool in the barn one night, scrawling my picks for that week’s football games in a small notebook, the family cow, Erma, lowed loudly, cleared its throat and then spoke. “No, no,” she said, in response to my pen scratching. “Stafford is out. You want to take Cincinnati and the points.”
    “You can talk,” I said, stunned at first. “Cincy over Detroit, huh?”
    “You can bet on it,” Erma said.
    “I would,” I told Erma. “But Cincinnati’s playing Jacksonville this week.”
    Erma was visibly embarrassed. “But, I thought...”
    “Yeah, well you thought wrong,” I said. “Ya fuckin' idiot.”