Somewhere in the English countryside, with my mother when I was eight or nine years old, we were staying with friends of hers in a big beautiful house surrounded by hilly fields and forests.
Notifying no one one afternoon I ventured off. I crossed a field where I noticed a herd of cows in the distance. I scaled a fence and dropped into another paddock.
I padded through a forrest of ancient oaks, the ground bumpy with acorns and scented from bluebells, tiny lanterns of effervescent periwinkle petals.
Eventually daylight dimmed and I turned back. When I reached the field of cows they had migrated and were now directly in my path. They were munching grass and casually shifting one step at a time, ignoring me. Equally I paid them no mind.
As I neared I thought one or two were watching me. Chewing and idly eyeing my approach. I didn’t worry, they were just cows.
However, it seemed they were inching closer to each other. I figured I must be imagining things, but it appeared, one stamping hoof at a time, they were creating a wall.
Then, in an instant, they surrounded me. I was penned in by massive black and white fuzzy faces. I was always a runt, and to me they were giants.
I was completely terrified.
I stared down at the muddy field. Who would find my dead body? From their glistening noses came drifts of earthen scents that mingled with the evening chill. Time ticked by and after what felt like forever they broke ranks. I saw a clearing and I bolted, clambered over the gate and ran. Ran to find my mother. She was wrapped in blankets beside a crackling fireplace, and I told her, still panting, of my encounter with the cows.
“Darling! Cows don’t do that sort of thing,” she laughed, but she did not believe a word.
To this day I have no credibility. Someone will ask me the time and I’ll tell them and they turn right around and get a second opinion.
I swear to you the incident with the cows did happen.
Image by Great Serb Painter Saša Montiljo www.montiljo.com
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Mike: Cows, not to be underestimated!
I’m camped at Yankee Meadows, Parowan, Utah. Cows graze this land, bulls, too, although without their horns. Cows, there are good and bad ones, I believe. This one big one made it a point to piss in my face, well, from thirty feet, about three weeks back. I took it as an insult; she was accusing me of being a wimp (earlier i had jumped back when the bull stomped toward me, close, too close). Was she right? What right did she have? (These are beef cows, cattle.) I can imagine the imprint these huge, big as a car animals, could make on a little girl’s memory. Don’t put anything past them!
Thanks Monty, those cows were from the dark side… maybe that’s why these days I’m a vegetarian… xx
Ooooooooooo ! Well done for getting rid of the cows, the Ex and the Mother-in-law.
For some strange reason, I picture your ex husband’s Mama as being like someone from the Spanish Inquisition, surrounded by candles in a darkened room and dressed in the Full Scarlet Regalia!
Like something from a Monty Python sketch.
xxxx