Sunday, October 6, 2013

The Black Night of The Black Cow.



I don’t spook easily in the dark. When I am in my house or in my yard or in my woods I feel fairly confident that I know the terrain better than anything or anyone else out there. I rarely turn on lights when I walk around at night because of my belief that my feet are going to land on the familiar and there is no reason to see any of this.
I pee in the front yard early in the morning. Men get this. I don’t have to explain this to men at all because men would rather forgo the entire seat up seat down discussion and urinate in a natural state.  Women complain about how men pee indoors and then they are totally mystified that we make the effort to go outside and pee. It saves water does it not? If you have a well it saves electricity. If you like to walk around nude in the coolness of Autumn and there is no one else around to see you and there are a billion stars in the sky, why the hell would you miss all of this just to pee in clean water inside of a house?

This is a conservation issue, dammit, and I am going to save the world by peeing in the yard and I am going to do it naked if I can. After all, I don’t have to wash clothes I’m not wearing, do I? See! All of this makes perfect sense.

Back when I was sixteen I got ahold of some truly wicked alcohol called Rye and got puking drunk. I was in someone’s yard on my hands and knees and from what I could tell, it sounded like I was puking up a Demon or something. The people at the party were being amused by the sounds until I started screaming. One of the sounds I was making clearly sounded like a wounded calf because a cow came to investigate. I was puking my guts out and suddenly this horned face comes up to me and I nearly died. I really did think I had puked up a Demon or at least was being visited by one.

So this memory is stored away for future reference, in the back of my mind, to remind me that moderation is the way to go and in the spirit of moderation  have drank all the Rye I can drink, ever, back in the seventies. I’m sober,  it’s two in the morning, and yes, there was a reason for me to be up at two in the morning and naked. I sleep this way and the dogs got up to investigate a noise. I had to pee so the front yard seemed reasonable, right? And a cow walked up to me.

I heard the cow coming before I saw it and my mind first told me that it was Lucas because Lucas is quite large but then my mind became a little more aware that the sound was slightly larger than even Lucas and the idea it might be a horse popped into my head and then suddenly there was a very large black cow right there in front of me.

Now, I have never been bitten by a cow and I’m not thinking I ought to be afraid but at the same time it was more than a little startling. Okay, it scared the hell out of me, I admit it. I reeled in my business and retreated very calmly into the house. Okay, okay, I yelled a word I won’t repeat here and scrambled back to the porch which set the dogs off.

The dogs noticed the scent of bovines and as such, have smelled them before. Nothing new here, move along little doggies and suddenly I’m yelling. Lucas has the bray of a big dog and Lillith’s voice isn’t as small as she is by a long shot. Sam sat this one out. He’s done his time with the four legged grass eaters and he’s through with it. A Bay Mare came over one day and chased Sam under the back deck and went after Bert. The Mare had listened to as much barking as she intended to hear and sent a very strong message to the dogs about prey animals and predators.  Lucas and Lillith haven’t heard this sermon yet so their feelings towards this subject where very loudly expressed as they thundered back into the house. My entrance back into my front door was blocked by the pair. There is no way in hell I was going to open that door unless that cow cold nosed me. All bets would have been off at that point.

He may be one hundred and sixteen pounds of mutt, but Lucas will listen to me. Lillith is getting there and by and large, she isn’t going to have any an open munity over a cow. Sam didn’t want any part of a cow that hadn’t been cooked. Sam is wise. Sam is an old dog with plenty of experience with the four legged grass eaters, cooked and uncooked. So I get in, get a pair of shorts on and turn on the outside lights. Damn! There are a dozen cows out there. My neighbor’s fence has failed.

I go down to the driveway and put up a gate. Yes, I did put clothes on, thank you very much. The cows were munching on the grass in the yard and felt no need to escape. I was away for most of the day yesterday and when I got back all the cows were gone. Lucas had not doubled in size so I assume he did not eat them.

This morning I stepped into the front yard, wearing nothing but a pair of flip flops. The Big Dipper was high in the sky as was a billion other stars. Somewhere far overhead a jetliner passed with its lights blinking. Someone up there might be looking down over the land and wondering who is there while I wondered who was up there. There was no cows but there was a soft breeze and I wonder why more people don’t do this.

Take Care,

Mike


2 comments:

  1. “I rarely turn on lights when I walk around at night because of my belief that my feet are going to land on the familiar and there is no reason to see any of this.”
    The presents of herd animals sure changes the odds of landing on familiar.

    “I have never been bitten by a cow and I’m not thinking I ought to be afraid.”
    Cows only have bottom teeth up at the bitey end, so that's no problem. However they do have 30 grit tongue that can quickly tear up … well… tender bits.

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