Years ago, while still a student nurse, I became the proud owner of an "Orange Cow!" She was three feet tall, with a gorgeous set of little brown horns, and had a large daisy stuck in her mouth. So, of course, she was named "Daisy," and Daisy went wherever I went. I dragged her from room to room at the Grace Hospital Nurses' Residence, and after graduation Daisy accompanied me to Grand Bank Cottage Hospital, where I had my first job as a brand new Registered Nurse. My friend and I had gone to England right after graduation for a two or three week trip, and Daisy was cared for by my parents who were used to me and my strange characters, living or stuffed. When I returned from England I took Daisy and we set off to stomp out illness and eradicate disease, with all the missionary zeal of the young. We went to live in the little nurses' residence up over the hospital in Grand Bank, Newfoundland. Daisy had been given to me by a young man, the same young man who was to become my husband. I knew nothing about becoming the owner of this cow until she was delivered to me, and to this day I have no idea where he found her or why he bought her, but he did. She was so soft and fluffy, and her large eyes so endearing I would never be able to refuse her, so we became a team, Daisy and Me. She sat on or beside my bed, listened to my grumbles, my problems, my laughter, and sat beside me when tears came and after awhile she was just part of me. If I got in a huff or full of anger, I would never stomp off without my orange cow, and that is the way it went for years. I had to take her with me because I don't know too many people who want an overstuffed bright orange cow adorning their homes. The night I was given this endearing creature, this stuffed bovine, I was late arriving back at the residence. Curfew broken again, and my mind conjuring up ways to get back to my room without being noticed. Now, what never occurred to me was that carrying a large orange cow is going to get you noticed in New York City, where anything goes, much less our very restricted living quarters as students. I managed to get to the elevator, pushed the floor button that I knew would land me on the floor where there was a kind of secret route to the residence. However, before I reached that floor the elevator stopped, as I am sure my heart did also. On the elevator stepped the night supervisor. I figured I had just gone too far, and this was it this time. "Jarvis," she said, eyeing me with a squint over her glasses, "I am not seeing this, I do not want to see this, I do not want to deal with this, and I am ignoring you with all the control I can muster. And the quicker you and that thing you are dragging get out of my sight the better off we all will be. Do you understand?"   Yep, I understood all right. I mumbled something akin to thank you, and stepped off the elevator, heaving a sigh of relief. I know that Mrs. Supervisor had all of my pranks she could stand and getting out of her sight would be a great relief to both of us. So I did! This was quite a stroke of luck indeed. So Daisy got to my room and she cowered there for the remainder of my training days, (no pun intended).   I married and left Newfoundland several years later. Daisy had to stay behind in the care of my parents again. Father said he figured she wouldn't cost much to feed so she could stay. Every year I came back for vacation and there Daisy would be, her coat gradually fading to a colour somewhat more yellow than orange.   However, I could not give her away. There were too many memories between us. I remarked to Father that Daisy was getting old and he commented we all were, and that was that. I had no idea of the prank he was to pull on me that year.   On our way back across Newfoundland in our camper van we stopped here and there and at one stop we proceeded to prepare lunch. I came close to dying of fright when I reached under the bunk of the van for dishes and felt this soft furry material. I screamed, the kids came running, and together we pulled Daisy out from under the bunk. Father had done it again! He felt it was time Daisy came with me and he sent me off carrying a stowaway, not showing a bit of emotion as he did so. I called him collect to say "Very Funny, Father!" His laughter was endless.   The rest of the trip Daisy spent stuck up in one van window or another, the kids waving at passing motorists, and they would wave or toot their horns at them. We arrived back in the Annapolis Valley late in the date after the ferry crossing, and while unpacking we realized we did not have my Daisy. Well, I was a wreck! Finally the children decided that Daisy did not want to leave Newfoundland and had escaped while we slept. I agreed, and the matter was put aside. So, Daisy is a lot older now, and probably all yellow.   If anyone is traveling across Central Newfoundland sometime and the children start yelling that they saw a "Yellow cow, Mom, really!"   Just do the parental, 'Yes dear, now let's see how many different license plates we can identify." That usually fixes any travel problem. Because Daisy is where she wants to be, and probably is enjoying immense freedom from being jolted, insulted, carried, dragged and bundled up by me and others, and is enjoying her freedom.   Yes, she is probably all yellow by now, and is most likely avoiding people, especially those leaving Newfoundland, the place where she wants to stay.   Just do the license plate thing-works every time!   Submitted By: Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe