The Cow Story

This is the tale of what happened in September a couple of years ago. (Guinevere is the fake name I am giving to myself for this story, and Lancelot is the fake name of my boyfriend.)

The Cow Story 

Another stupid true story by Me

Back in September, I was jogging through the usual field when I got chased by a cow. Now, usually the cows are timid of humans and they back away when they see you coming, and likewise I give them a wide berth to avoid frightening them. But on this day, it was a young half-grown male cow who was just developing his bull tendencies, so he put his head down and charged at me. I ran like fuck! But he was faster than me, and bigger, and we were a long way from any edge of the field, so my prospects weren’t looking very good. Luckily for me, his little-boy-timidity took over and he backed off. So I did not end up in A&E with doctors having conversations of the type “What happened here?” “She got fucked by a teenage bull.” “Shit! We’ll need a specialist doctor for this one!” “You’re right. I’d better summon Doctor Schwarzenegger.”

A few days later, I was jogging through the same field again when this big full-grown female cow came running through the field towards me, and she was mooing like mental. “Shit!” (That was me saying “Shit!” not the cow.) I turned around and went back the other way right through the squelchy mud bit.

That was two cow incidents within less than a week of each other after never having any trouble in the past. My brain concluded that there must have been some human coming into the fields and upsetting the cows. Would I ever encounter this human? Would I have the opportunity to kick his/her arse for upsetting my friendly neighbourhood cows?

About a week later, recovering from a stomach bug (believing I’d completely recovered), I decided to go for a jog after work. There was still some daylight so I could go through the fields as usual. As I was reaching the farthest point from home, my intestines embarked upon a flurry of activity which resulted in me really badly needing to go to the loo. (Yes. This is another diarrhoea story. Family members are allowed to refer to me as the adopted one.) I couldn’t go to the loo on the horse riding track because loads of cyclists go past at that time in the evening on their return from work; I couldn’t go to the loo in the bushes at the edge of the field because they were all thorn bushes and stinging nettles; I couldn’t go to the loo in the middle of the paddocks because of the high chances of people passing by and seeing. Thus, my most realistic option was to run home and hope for the best. At my fastest sustainable jogging pace, it would take about twenty minutes, so I ran like Forrest Gump! I got to a gate between paddocks, and on the other side was a massive herd of cows waiting to come through the gate, and they were crowded together like sardines. If I was going to pass through the middle of this herd, then I wasn’t going to be able to run (they would take fright, headbutt or kick me, and everything would explode from my bum – 8 out of 10 on the undesirable options scale), so I had to walk slowly between them. They were getting quite nervous over me walking among them, so I was trying to comfort them by talking to them in that voice (the voice reserved for talking to animals and babies), and I was saying things like “It’s ok lovely cows. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get past so that I can shit my brains out in the comfort of my own home.” Now, where we were, there was a stream next to us, another paddock on the other side of the stream, and a few trees obscuring the view of the other paddock. When I got past the trees and saw into the paddock across the stream, I saw a special-looking teenage boy. He had singled out a half-grown cow and herded it away from the other cows. It looked frightened and wanted to get back to its cow friends. And they were watching, also looking a bit alarmed. The boy turned to see me coming, he must have heard me moments earlier talking to the cows because he turned from is cow, and wanting not to look like he was doing something dodgy, he ran to the bridge over the stream, sat quickly on the bottom step and crossed his legs to form what to him would have looked like a nonchalant pose. But I wasn’t fooled – his run was the mental run that Phoebe once did in Central Park in an episode of Friends (arms all over the place, mostly too far out front, fan-hands of open fingers spread far apart instead of the normal relaxed fists of a jogger), as he ran he pulled his pants back up, and as he sat quickly on the bottom step of the bridge, he plonked his arse down hard right into the middle of a giant fresh cowpat. (I knew it was there. I’d seen it and manoeuvred around it half an hour earlier). Clearly, this was the guy that’d been upsetting my friendly neighbourhood cows and he was due for a world-class Guinevere-style arse-kicking! But I couldn’t stop to kick his arse – alas my arse wanted to explode, and it wasn’t going to hang around waiting for me to kick a mental kid’s arse, so I had to just continue running home in my frantic buttock panic.

Epilogue 1: I never saw boy again (I was expecting to kick his arse the next time I saw him). The cows calmed down and went back to normal, so I don’t think he ever visited them again. (To be honest, I don’t think he could have ever gotten close enough to a cow to achieve his cow-shagging aspirations. I think he gave up).

Epilogue 2: Yes, I did make it home to the toilet just in time, but I left the toilet door wide open which I think was pretty unpleasant for Lancelot.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *