I cannot have a drink of water without attracting a throng of giggling admirers. It's the tongue thing, I guess . . . I stick my snout down to the trough, and *boop!* out pops my mulishly pink and splendiferously touchable tongue. I don't do it on purpose, and I don't mean to draw in the papparazzi, but it happens and I cannot help it.
I raise my head from the trough, and, lo and behold, there's that tongue, dangling tantalizingly beyond the frontier of my lips and attracting attention from every corner. It's just too cute, and the people can't help themselves.
Then, chaos. We've got little girls squealing "ooooooh!" at the gate. We've got FarmWife sighing "aaaaah" from the yard. We've got neighbors saying "aaaaaaw" from their porches. Camera's clicking, flashbulbs popping, and not a moment's peace until . . . *shlurp!*—I tuck that cute, wet, pink tongue back where it belongs until the next time I refresh myself.
Ah, well. At least I'm loved.