The Race to the Neapolitan Cow

Chapter 1 - Pleasant Milk

The scent of spices and herbs growing in the pasture wafted into the Baker kitchen on the wind. Cookie Baker sat at the gingerbread table and took a sip of her strawberry milk. The milk was cold on her tongue and as she swished it throughout her mouth, she smiled. It was neither too sweet nor too bland. Perfectly balanced. A pleasant glass of milk. 

With a gulp, Cookie let the milk slide down her throat, the coldness tickling it gently. She paused for a moment before writing something in the notepad beside her. She scribbled some lines and some notes, crossing out some numbers here and adding others there. The temperature was off by a small margin. The milk didn't slide down the throat as smooth as it should. There was a mistake in her calculations. 

Cookie muttered under her breath as she held out the notepad in front of her. She hoped looking at it a little further back would point out her mistake, but... she wasn't that lucky. With a thud, the notepad hit the table and Cookie stood up. The chair screeched beneath her, scratching the hardened pink candy tiling. She let out a deep breath. 

The stress was starting to get to her. 

The candy county yearly bake-off was coming up in just a few weeks and she had yet to choose what dish she was to prepare. It would have to be difficult, delicious and most importantly, prepared to perfection. Her family had won first place for the past two decades and Cookie Baker wasn't about to let that change. 

Stood before the window, elbows resting on the sill and her face in her hands, Cookie watched the cows as they grazed through the auburn and red and green pasture. The brown cows chewed some spices here while the pink ones chewed some others there. And the white cows, pure of colour with no patches, well... they lingered near the fencing. The runts of the pack, with their bland milk, were not very popular with the rest of the cattle. 

Cookie frowned, pulling at her denim overalls. Poor creatures.

"Yoo-hoo!" a woman's voice called. It was high pitch and had a nasal quality to it, making it sound childish. 

Behind a group of white cows, a tuff of white hair bounced up and down. Cookie closed her eyes and took a deep breath before making her way outside.

Emerging from behind the cattle, hopping alongside the fence, was a small woman. Her tall white curly hair stood almost half her height and hung over on both sides like the ears of a hound. Her hooves clicked and clanked on the gravel pathway, shooting out stones and here and there, in rhythm with her walking staff. The bell tied on the curl of the staff jingled. 

Cookie couldn't help but roll her eyes and shake her head as she made her way over to the familiar woman - or maybe girl was a better word. The girl was eighteen years old, just like Cookie herself, although she did not look the part. No - her rosy cheeks, scrunched up face and the short pink poufy dress she wore made her like a ten-year-old. And she might as well be, considering how she acted. 

"Cookie!" the girl called, finally noticing her. She suddenly picked up speed, the click-clacking of her hooves getting faster and her hair jiggling like a jello cake. "Cookie! Over here! It's Camille!" The girl's open hand flew violently in the air. 

She waved back. "I see you!" Cookie yelled. There was a sharpness to her words. Her dark hazelnut eyes darted over to some of the other cows with her in the pasture. Most of the cattle nearby shared in  Cookie's disdain. They gave Camille a few moos before lifting themselves up and heading deeper into the pasture. She turned back towards Camille. "Quiet! Will ya!" 

Camille waved her hand in dismissal. "C'mon now! You're being a tad over-dramatic." She slowed a couple of meters away from Cookie. A few skips here and a few skips there as she made her way over to the fence. "They're just cows, you know!"