Two and a-half centuries ago, Norwood was not Norwood. Or maybe it was vice-versa. In fact, it was not even a town, a village, or a hamlet - despite what Shakespeare may say.

And the land wasn’t part or parcel part of the United States - or the Disorganized Territories. It was just a nice place to call home, if you liked your home life threatened with a lack of rights, outrageous taxes, and mandatory tea consumption per household.

But a bunch of folks who really disliked wearing red uniforms decided to buck the trend - even before there were bucks - and politely ask the Crown if they would be ever so kind as to politely loosen the rules and allow just a wee bit of human freedom, and perhaps swap out crullers for donuts. The answer came back with the largest tea shipment this side of Lipton’s - and the game was on. With two lumps, if you please.

Over in this part of the country - apparently called Not Norwood back then - a gentleman decided that he had had enough of ploughing for the day - or a few years - and took his musket, gunpowder, and milk bucket off to where the action was. Aaron Guild, in fact, left in such a hurry that he did not have time for his bread to rise. (Oh, wait, that’s another story.) But he left behind everything that was near and dear to him, including, and most importantly of course, his cow.

Mr. Guild, of course, did his part. And, from anecdotal evidence and Auntie Dotie’s reticence, we learn the cow did hers. And this during a time when cow rights were not fully enforced.

It’s not widely known, but that cow, nicknamed “the cow” by the wits of the time (humor was highly taxed, which explains some things), supplied soldiers with milk, cheese and yogurt, an astonishing fact because yogurt wasn’t introduced on a first-name basis in the United States yet. The cow apparently had excellent overseas connections for these products, and offered her suppliers to watch her jump over the moon for a gallon.

The cow also tried to rent herself out to soldiers wearily trudging off to battle and who couldn’t afford to buy a luxury ride on Route 1’s Horse Kilometer. (“Come on down and try a steed instead,” went the popular calling.)

While Guild was off forging a new nation, the cow got a gig with some modeling work. You do what you have to do in times of war. Her likeness is seen on the Town Seal a century or so later. And, if you look closely, you may be able to see Aaron Guild in there.

Or so they tell me.