Chapter One
    “Dr. Co, Moo the Cow is here to see you.” Dr Co’s secretary said over the intercom.
    “Ok, send him in.” Dr. Co replied. Dr. Co was, of course, a moose. After all, cows say “Moo.” That’s most of “Moose.” So why shouldn’t the moose do the same?
    Anyway, Moo the Cow walked through the door to Dr. Co’s office that instant.
    “Sit down,” Dr. Co said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
    Moo sat down on the psychiatrist sofa.
    “So, what seems to be the problem?”
    “Well, I hear muffins talking whenever I see them,” Moo said. “I have conversations with them.”
    “Well, what do they say?”
    “At first they were astounded that I could talk,” Moo said. “And I kept them around for a time because they were interesting. But then they got lonely and started threatening me, which made me mad, so I threw them into the lake near my house.”
    “Hmm,” Dr. Co said, “this sounds like Udder Madness.”

Chapter Two
“Yes, I know it seems like I might be crazy,” Moo said. “Can you tell me what I’ve got?”
“Yes I can,” Dr. Co replied. “The name of the disease you have is Udder Madness. It’s a disease contracted at birth in the, er, down there regions. It makes you believe that certain objects can talk, like a lesser version of schizophrenia.”
    “But Doc, what can I do?!” Moo franticly asked. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life with cake-like breakfast snacks whispering in my ear!”
    “Well,” Dr. Co replied, “for permanent results, we could amputate said region—”
    “NO!!!”
    “I guessed as much. Well then, the only other thing you can do is face off with your mental insanity. Get some muffins, listen to them talk, and while they’re talking, ‘record’ their voices. Bring the tape recorder to my office, and we’ll listen to it. Then when you hear that there aren’t the voices of any muffins on that recorder, you’ll be cured!”
    “Thank you so much! How much do I owe you for today’s session?”
    Dr. Co named a price.
    “For this much, this is going to work or else!” Moo growled through his teeth.

Chapter Three
    After receiving some very expensive advice from Dr. Co, Moo is taking the first steps to confronting his mental insanity. That is, he tapes a tape recorder to the bottom of a table, and gets out a box of Mr. Human’s Muffin Mix (the reason for the brand name was so a human’s picture could be put on the box, the mythological creature’s opposable thumbed, dexterous hands reminded you to approach the packaging with brains, instead of running it over with your lawnmower to get at the mix inside).
    Moo mechanically went through the motions of preparing the muffin mix. He put the muffins inside the oven, and set the oven timer for twenty minutes. His mind was filled with uncertainty. He had “killed” (they’re inanimate, it’s not killing, snap out of it!) muffins before. What if these were mutant muffins with strange powers? They’d want revenge.
    Throw the muffins out the window.
    Go through with the experiment.
    Turn the oven off.
    Go through with the experiment.
    The oven dinged. It was time for Moo to confront his fears. The muffins were ready.
Chapter Four
    Moo grabbed the handle of the oven’s door with his flowery oven mitt and pulled. The door slowly and menacingly opened, revealing THE MUFFINS!!!
    “So, we meet again, Mr. Bond,” the muffin on the left said.
    The muffin on the right loved his brother above anything else, so he liked to copy and imitate him.
    “So, we mee-“
    “Shut up! You just ruined the dramatic entry! Idiot!” Muffin left said, cutting off Muffin right.
    “Yes sir. Sorry sir.” Muffin right replied, crushed.
    “Well, it’s been nice to chat,” Moo blathered. “Now I’ve heard you talk, but really, you haven’t talked at all, because it’s all in my head, and there won’t be anything to hear!”
    With those parting words, Moo grabbed the tape recorder, shut it off, slammed the oven door shut, got in his car, and drove to Dr. Co’s office, ready to prove his sanity. The muffins would now bake until the door was opened, reducing them to a burnt mess. Moo had absentmindedly condemned them to their doom. He would probably feel very guilty if they were real.
Chapter Five
    After arriving at Dr. Co’s office and standing in the waiting room for what seemed like until the end of time, the current patient exited and Moo was allowed entry.
    “Back so soon?” Dr. Co asked. “I assume you have the tape.”
    “Yes.”
    “Well then, prepare to be cured!”
    Dr. Co pressed the PLAY button. Static played for a few seconds. Then- “So, we meet again, Mr. Bond.”
    “THE MUFFINS!!! They’re there! They’re real!” Moo screamed, diving to the floor and cowering under the table.
    “Moo, it’s just static.” Dr. Co said, puzzled. “There’s nothing on that tape.”
    “Can’t you hear them?!” Moo screamed.
    “Oh dear. You’ve got a more serious case than I thought. Your mind refuses to let this go. There’s nothing I can do now, but come back tomorrow and I’ll have something set up.”
    “Moo walked out in a daze, got into his car, and drove off as if in a dream.
    The drive home was uneventful (other than four knocked-over fire hydrants, much to the horror of the dogs that had staked them out as their own over many years, but this was of no concern to Moo’s dazed mind) but while ascending the last hill to his house, Moo smelled smoke.
Chapter Six
    Moo arrived home to a wonderful welcome: his house was on fire. The muffins had caught on fire during their prolonged cooking and set the oven on fire as well. You don’t have to be a brain surgeon to figure out what happens next.
    The fire trucks arrived, having been alerted by the neighbors, and cats in firefighter uniforms started pouring out of them. After all, cats love to be in warm places. They understand heat and fire on a deep level, so they know what to do against it. Plus, who better to rescue a cat from a tree than a cat itself?
    They found the customary burning building, and also some nutball cow outside screaming “THE MUFFINS!!! THEY ARE ANGRY WITH THIS UNBELIEVER!!! THEY ARE TAKING THEIR REVENGE!!!”
    Once the problem of the burning building was addressed, the firefighters took a closer look at the crazy. He was still repeating his mantra.
    “Completely off his rocker,” the fire chief, a Russian Blue, said. “Let’s take him to the loony bin.”
Chapter Seven
    At the clinic (loony bin) Moo had been brought to, Dot Co, Dr. Co’s sister, was watching over the gibbering cow. Thirty minutes after Moo’s arrival, Dr. Co burst into the room where his sister and the mad bovine awaited him.
    “I got here as fast as I could,” Dr. Co said, out of breath.
    “Cliché,” Dot Co murmured. “Anyway, it looks like he’s gone off the deep end into a pool filled with landmines, piranhas, sharks, and crocodiles, all wielding chainsaws. If you’re confused, the chainsaws are simply crazy glued to the landmines.”
    “Your metaphors certainly are extensive,” Dr. Co said, receiving his chance to murmur.
    “I recommend electroshock,” Dot Co advised.
    “Good idea!” Dr. Co cheerfully remarked. “If nothing else, it will help me. Giving electroshock to someone is like some wonderful stress-ball, relieving the tensions of the day.” He happily strode to the operating room.
    “Sometimes I wonder why he’s the psychiatrist and not the patient,” Dot Co muttered. She sighed and went to the storage room to get the electroshock equipment, and busied herself setting it up, as she was proficient in all things technical.

Chapter Eight
    Dr. Co held up a picture of some muffins. Moo screamed, ran to a corner of the room, and curled himself into a fetal position.
    “Moo, are the muffins talking to you?” Dr. Co gently asked.
    Moo nodded.
    BZZZT! “AARGH!!!”
    “No they aren’t!” Dr. Co snapped. “They’re muffins! They can’t talk! Now, let’s show you the picture again.”
    This medical torture went on for some time until Dr. Co called a snack break.
    “Moo, which kind of cookie would you like? M&M, or chocolate chip?”
    Moo pointed to the M&M cookie.
    BZZZT! “AARGH!!!”
    “No, Moo, I’m sure you want the chocolate chip cookie. M&M cookies are my favorite, and I’ve only got a thousand of them left. Now, which cookie do you want?”
    Moo shakily pointed to the chocolate chip cookie.
    “There we go. Just a little communication error.”
    Dr. Co sat back, grinned, and munched on his cookie.
    “If I can dissuade him off M&M cookies, this one’s in the bag!”

Chapter Nine
    The doors of the clinic opened, and Moo’s third cousin twice removed, Buff. A. Lo, walked in.
    “So, Cousin Moo went wonky, but he’s better now, and yet he can’t be trusted to drive and nobody knows his address, so you called me in?” Buff asked Dot Co, who was there to meet Buff, getting straight to the point.
    “Yes,” Dot Co replied.
    “Okay then. Anything I should know about?”
    “Yes.  Keep him away from muffins, M&M cookies, and moose. He has a deathly fear of all of the above. Oh, and he’s mute.”
    “Hmm. That’s a lot. I don’t think he was like that before he came here. Any idea if anything here could’ve caused it?”
    “None.”
    “Okay then.” And with that, Buff took the catatonic cow by the arm (foreleg? If he can talk, who knows?) and led him out of the clinic.
    Before the door stopped swinging, it was pushed open by a large group of miscellaneous animals wearing blue.
    “Are you Dot Co?” a Labradoodle in blue with a sparkly thing on the front of his jacket asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Could you get your brother?”
    Dot Co left and returned shortly with Dr. Co.
    “Dasher and Dot Co, I have warrants for your arrests, for maltreating patients and being an accessory to the aforementioned crime. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.” Other police (for of course, that was who the animals in blue were) swiftly cuffed the two.
    “No,” Dr. Co raved, “this can’t be happening! You can’t do this to me! You’ll live to regret this! And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling kids!”
    “Bro, at the risk of repeating myself,” Dot Co screamed as she was shoved into the cop car, “cliché!”
    “Meddling baby goats? I didn’t know anyone was meddling, let alone baby goats,” a hippo commented to himself.
The End