I wouldn’t have put “run from cows” on my list of life challenges I’d like to experience, but suffice it to say, I have now experienced the sheer panic that comes from trying to out-run cows.

It wasn’t even 7am yet, but the Carpenter burst into our bedroom amped up on caffeine and adrenaline. He didn’t sing good morning or awaken me with a soft kiss on my forehead. Nope. He jumped into the room all animated and bellowed, “Kelly, we’ve got cows on the front lawn.”

I’ve told you all how much I love cows. I talk to the neighbour’s cows every day. We’re on a first name basis. My favourite is tagged 34B. I like her because that’s the bra size I aspired to, and I feel like she understands that whole puberty fiasco failure. But I digress. 

I threw on whatever clothes I could find, wiped my blurry eyes, and dragged my  non-caffeinated, non-morning-person body to the front lawn of our rural home. 

Sure enough, walking around the badminton net and fire pit were three teenage cows. Rebel trespassers. We admired their youthful audacity. They were about the size of my car, but not quite the size of their mothers, who were clearly not paying attention to these delinquent cows, one of whom was snacking on our landlord’s beautiful gardens. 

For a brief moment, I was overjoyed. I imagined them living in our pasture, feeding them and caring for them. Of course I named them: Curly, Larry and Moe. Cute, right?

The Carpenter muttered something about how my ridiculous cow obsession has now manifested itself to have cows show up at our home, and that I’d better not imagine keeping them, making them pets and naming them. As if (spooky how well he knows me.)

While he drove over to notify the farmer, my job was to keep an eye on these big brats. But my dog, Scout, needed her morning bathroom break, so while the cows went off to one side of our property, I put Scout’s leash on and led her to the forest. 

Seems the cows moved a little quicker than I thought and had also meandered into the forest, at which point Scout (who puts the terror in terrier) verbally notified the cows they had trespassed, and while her human thought it was cute, she did not. 

The spooked cows headed off back to the front lawn to finish their badminton match, while we headed back to the house along the laneway. I didn’t even think to be nervous. The cows were more afraid of us, than we were of them. But as Scout and I passed by the lawn, Moe spotted us, stopped eating the garden and lowered his head. Something in me said, RUN. 

And oh boy, did we run. I looked back to see Curly, Larry and Moe chasing us up the laneway. Their hooves sounded like thunder. I’m not sure if Scout’s paws even hit the ground, or if she was a kite, but all I know is we were not stopping until we got to the house. Panting. 

All’s well that ends well. The nice farmer came to claim his cows. He was amused by my story, and surely my stupidity, and checked our property to ensure there was no damage. 

The Carpenter is still laughing at the image of me outrunning cows. The farmer surely is too. 

Cows, I still love you. Moo.

WriteOut of Her Mind