I used to tell Ailish stories about Moo. Moo was a rather stupid (male) cow. He would, for example, occasionally get confused and forget to open his eyes when he woke up, and then panic that the Sun had gone out. Ailish loved the stories, and often requested a new one.

The stories were not particularly good. I tended to make them up on the spot, and there’s only so much trouble a rather stupid cow can get into. The stories had morals attached to them, albeit morals that were mostly appropriate to rather stupid cows. Ailish would complain when the moral was too simple. Or when I couldn’t remember the names of Moo’s friends. She also didn’t appreciate when I tried to bring a giraffe into the story. Still, they were better than the animal stories Ailish used to tell; she would kill off her protagonist at the end of all of her stories, so I refused to allow her to tell any. I suspect this may have been a ploy.

Moo may have been a stupid cow, but he was a great source of amusement. Ailish and I were married for 263 days. Today is 263 days since Ailish died. This morning, I told her a Moo story.