T and I moved here two years ago, almost to the day. Shortly after we moved in, I was out for a run on a crisp and colorful fall day. As I trotted through the whispering leaves I saw what I thought was a dog up ahead, moving along the side of the road.
As I moved closer, the dog stopped and looked back at me.
Holy cow, I thought. That is the biggest dog I’ve ever seen. It’s a Great Dane!
A few feet later I saw that there were two of them. And not a person – other than me – in sight. This time I thought, I am so screwed.
Where were their owners? I slowed down to a walk, so as not to excite them. As I stopped bouncing and got some of my wind back, I started to see more clearly. I was about 30 feet away when I realized…those aren’t dogs. They’re cows.
Yup. We live in cow country.
There were freaking COWS in the middle of the road. Three cows to be exact (I hadn’t seen the last one until I was up close), and each was as almost as tall as I was.
I talked to the lanky teenaged bovines as I approached.
“Nice cows,” I said, or something similarly inane. “So, uh…how are things? Really? Good here. I’m just going to walk on by you, so don’t feel like you have to go into a little mini stampede or anything, okay? We’re cool.”
As I walked by, the cows started to walk along side of me. One of them was giving me a very dirty look. I kept walking, but at the same time I was wondering what would happen if the cows followed me all the way home.
“Hi honey! I’m home. Three cows followed me. Can we keep them? Huh, huh, can we? Pleeeaaase?”
That would be one big-ass litter box. You’d have to scoop it with a snow shovel.
Fortunately for me, T and our vet bills, the cows turned off at a dirt driveway not far up. The Bossy Posse swaggered off like gangstas and I picked up the pace again so that I could get home and change my underwear.
Fast forward two years.
Owen and I are enjoying a refreshing walk on a brilliant fall day. We pass a farm that has a brown cow ambling around their fenced yard. Owen and the cow make eye contact.
Let me just say here and now that Owen is a herder. He herds me, he herds T, he herds the cats. And he loves cows. He has tried to jump out of a moving vehicle to get at a group of grazers.
He was super-excited to see a cow. He stayed stock still until the curious cow came closer.
(This story is so alliterative!)
How now, brown cow!
The dog was fascinated. The cow was curious. The human was amused.
Then all hell broke loose. You see, this house also houses three ginormous, fluffy terriers. And it was at this point that they detected the presence of a foreign dog.
He was horning in on their herding.
They started yelping a chorus of chaos. The dogs barked, the cow lowed and the kids yelled.
And Owen barked and jumped over the moon.
I decided that perhaps our neighbors would not be pleased with the ruckus and that it would be prudent for us to move along. Owen did not agree. I had to drag him away – literally.
He really didn’t want to leave his new buddy.
It was very moo-ving.