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Bevo the Thirteenth is no more, having mozied off this mortal coil to whatever afterlife awaits cows. Peter has the summary article, but we'd like to get a bit theological here: what kind of afterlife awaits Bevo the Thirteenth? He spent most of his time on earth doing the following:

1. Eating grass.

2. Farting.

3. Mating on command.

4. Being led around by the nose.

So Bevo heaven looks a lot like...Bevo's earthly life. Or the lives of 50% of married men, actually, if you substitute the word "Mexican food" for "grass."

The more likely scenario is that Bevo will be reborn as an Indian cow, where he may wander the streets of cities eating the tastiest bits of trash from the dumpsters, protected from slaughter by religion in most parts of the country. When TCOAN was in India, she sent us pictures of the cows feeding at night from the dumpsters: shadow images of long-necked white cattle lurking in the alley like bovine gangsters, more sinister-looking than you thought cows could ever look. They owned the place, and judging from the sinister gleam in their perfectly round black eyes, they knew it, too.

So, raise a toast: Bevo 13, here's to your gangster alley cow heaven, where nary a bridle constrains your freedom to stuff your 22 stomachs with whatever the hell you want. R.I.P., our flatulent friend.

Now a cow gangster: RIP, Bevo 13.