It was called Cow Pie, a hideous name for something people buy in confection shops, put in their mouths, chew, swallow, and enjoy. It floated in the breeze behind the department store filled with more meaningful Cow Pies, Cow Pies with purpose, Cow Pies with Cow Pies in them.

This Cow Pie wandered off, alone, empty, and pieless.

It glistened in the sun before drifting into the shadows, its silver insides smelling ironically rich and sweet, orange outsides bright and attractive like a prep school student at graduation, waving, smiling, floating among the commoners.

The Cow Pie faltered in its solemn path down the weary alley. It shook and shivered against the concrete, unable to raise, to fly in the breeze like the lucky Safeway bag that spun in circles up ahead, boasting its impossible ariel cartwheels.

It started to sink. The fun was over. The Cow Pie sighed, merely bristling in the wind.

Then it heard barking.

It didn't take long for Cow Pie to gain its motivation. It struggled to catch some air, paining itself to be as a robin in the sky, or a Safeway bag, or an autumn leaf, but nothing could push him higher.