Last weekend I found myself alone, standing in front of a bunch of cows and their calves. I’d been left there on purpose to stand guard over a broken gate my father-in-law was fixing. For those of you who have been following my blog posts from the beginning, you’ll know me and momma cows don’t get on so well when they have their babies. They like to charge me. I didn’t have a dog with me this time so it was a little less suicidal on my part, but the moment my husband and father-in-law left the cows started creeping toward me.
The closer they came the faster my heart raced. My husband always tells me if I make myself look bigger by flailing my arms and making noise any cow will turn away, but with the way the one in the front kept snorting as she inched closer I wasn’t buying it. I still managed to stick out my chest and stare the leader down. It was a game of chicken I knew I’d never see to the end. If the cow decided to make a run at me I’d jump the fence. Thankfully my tough act held them off long enough for my husband and father-in-law to return. Man, I really don’t like the calving season. Docile cows become raving lunatics, protecting their youth at all costs.