Perhaps it's a cultural thing, as I was born and raised in ranching country, but cowpies (that is, dinnerplate-sized piles of cow manure, hard or soft) are not something I tend to see eaten in literature. Stepped in, frequently. Maybe even burned for heat. But never eaten.
Similarly, I was once offered a Meadow Muffin, a fibre-filled, unashamedly health-food cupcake. But to me, a meadow muffin is what comes out of the south end of a north-going horse.
