You feel a strange tingling as you pull back, gasping for breath. Something feels wrong. Your throat feels restricted. You're choking. You bring a hand to your throat and grasp it, on the verge of a panic.
"What? Oh, stop overreacting. It tasted just fine, you little..." she trails off as she figures something truly is wrong.
You feel a tingling across your skin as short dark hairs erupt all over you.
"No..." she whispers. "Not another one."
Your face elongates a bit, and a tail slowly begins to stretch from the base of your hips. You're turning into a minotaur (wait - if she's a cowitaur - that makes her a "cow bull"... okay, that's just retarded, you decide)? But it keeps going. You find yourself getting smaller, your brain being able to grasp less and less. Your thought on the stupidity of "cowitaur" is gone, and then complicated thought processes, then language, walking...
"Oh, damn it all." Bessie mutters as she lifts you into her arms. "For once I would like to find a slave who DOESN'T turn into a baby the instant I milk him. Well, okay, I guess I'm your momma, little one. Little Ferdinand. Yes, that's what I'll name you. Ferdinand."
You smile up into your new mother's face, grasping for her horns with tiny, stubby fingers.