Run, Mignon, run!

It was the oddest thing. I saw a woman posting these notices on utility poles in the neighborhood of my place of employment. She was a not-unattractive blonde wearing platform shoes, a mid-length skirt and a polyester blouse. In short, she did not look like the kind of person who would be in possession of a cow in the first, much less be in the position of losing one. Who loses a cow?

Then when I took a close look at the actual notice, I was somewhat surprised by the "name" of the missing cow. Now, I'm no vegetarian. Far from it. In fact, I can think of no finer cut of beef than the filet mignon. I just think it's in poor sport to name your animal after its destiny.

So I say, "You go, little "Mignon"! Run! Run for your life! Run until your muscles are lean and stringy and of no use to anyone! Run until you find some sanctuary (perhaps Oregon?) where you can spend the rest of your days in peace and happiness, free from the predations of carnivores such as myself.