Down at Queenston on the Niagara River you can see clear across to Lewiston in the US of A. Conversely, if you are the cow in our story, you can see all the way back, and feel sick to the pit of all your stomachs.
A few days back she'd been over there in that Queenston field eating that fresh, succulent, Queenston grass. Then, before she knew what was happening, she'd been driven off to market with all those men shouting and yelling. And then had found herself stranded in this field with the tantalising view of what used to be, but separated by this coursing river.
Now, the other man's grass is always greener, and this goes doubly for cows who knew their grass, and trebly for cows who've actually tasted the other cow's grass and liked it. Our heroine yearned to join her old friends on the other side of the river.
Cows drink the stuff, but could they swim in it? She didn't know, but it was sure enough worth finding out.
That homesick cow waded down into the waters and commenced to teach herself to swim. Cow-paddle isn't elegant, not a stroke for an Olympic swimmer to emulate, but for her it was effective enough.
After a lot of energy and time had been spent she was back in dear old Queenston tasting that well-remembered grass. Did it taste as good as she remembered? You're right, it did!
It wouldn't matter how many times she was sold across that river, she was a Canadian cow and she would come paddling home.