"My feeling is, we ran from animals for three million years. It's our time now. If a cow could eat you, it would. And it wouldn't care how comfortable your truck ride over was, either."

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It was a silver cow. But when I say 'cow', don't go running away with the idea of some decent, self-respecting cudster such as you may observe loading grass into itself in the nearest meadow. This was a sinister, leering, Underworld sort of animal, the kind that would spit out of the side of its mouth for twopence.

— P. G. Wodehouse