I'm beginning to realize that for very unplanned reasons, cows have figured prominently in my writing for years now, and this post is no exception. You're welcome.
Living in the country comes with its perks: quiet nights, open spaces, and the occasional deer wandering through the yard like they’re auditioning for a Hallmark Christmas special. But no one warns you about cows. These lumbering escape artists turned my peaceful yard into their personal hangout, and I found myself in the middle of a battle of wits with creatures whose main hobby is chewing grass and judging you silently. Spoiler: they are better at both.
I don't particularly like cows. They're fine, but generally I prefer them nicely done on a bbq than staring me down across the driveway. I'm confident that cute, personable cows are out there, but the ones I've had the pleasure of interacting with have all been big and dumb, and subsequently intimidating in their stupidity.
Like I do sometimes, I was enjoying my morning in the backyard, doing some painting and admiring the crisp rural air, when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Something was behind me, watching me, questioning my use of the colour blue. I turned around expecting a bear or a cougar, because that felt likely in the forest, but no, it was six cows— six brown and white cows, standing in my yard like they pay my taxes, casually munching on my grass and shitting everywhere. One of them locked eyes with me, her expression saying, Try me, subordinate.
Well, game on, Betsy May.
I called the owner to let them know that I probably had their cows. They were not in town and suggested I just "go over and tell them to go home".
Now, I'm not an experienced cow handler, but I don't think they work like that. They are cows, not homing pigeons.
I honestly didn't know what to do. I'd known someone who was trampled by a cow, and he was a cowboy with years of cow practice, and I was...not. The offending cow had left his leg mangled, and my belief in the charm of cows fully destroyed. Under no circumstance was I getting anywhere near those obtuse meat tanks.
So I considered my options: Chasing cows on foot? No. I valued my ability to walk without a limp. Calling their owner? Tried that and I was on my own unless I trusted the herd's sense of direction, which I did not. The obvious answer here was taking the cows for a walk like a country girl: by truck. Trucks are made for rugged terrains, hauling trailers, and, as it turns out, cow herding....primarily because I felt I was closer to an even weight class when safely tucked inside.
With the confidence of someone who had watched Yellowstone once, decided all the characters were reprehensible, and then fallen asleep halfway through, I hopped into my standard issue black truck and set off on a mission.
I started slowly creeping up on them like a tiger in the wild—if tigers had poor visibility, some rust, and a playlist blasting '90s rock. The cows, unbothered, gave me a side-eye and continue munching. I gently revved the engine, hoping to scare them off and get them moving down the road towards their farm. Nothing. These cows had nerves of steel or were just too stupid to grasp what was happening. Jury’s still out.
I gave it a little gas. The truck inched closer. This gets their attention. The cows start to meander off, clearly offended by my intrusion. But the leader—the cow equivalent of the cool girl in high school—stands her ground.
I edge closer, thinking, I’m bigger, I’m faster, I have a vehicle. She thinks, NO. I eat, you leave!
What followed was a ridiculous game of very slow chicken, which was interesting given that this was a cow, but finally, with a disgruntled moo that I’m pretty sure was cow-speak for Eat Glass she sauntered off down the road after her coven.
Victory? No. There's no winning here.
Cows are stubborn creatures, and as soon as I turned my back to go inside, they started creeping back into the yard. It became a whole morning ordeal—me chasing them out, them returning, and me questioning my life choices. Eventually, I herded them by truck all the way down my long driveway, down the road, and hopefully off towards their pasture...or at least in that general direction. I'm sure they got home eventually. Probably. I assume I would have heard about it otherwise.
In surviving this up close and personal cow encounter, I will say that I learned a few things: Cows have no respect for personal property and would prefer if you left please, trucks make excellent cow-chasing tools, but you will feel very ridiculous taking cows for a walk with your truck, and people with actual ranching experience will find this whole situation far less traumatic than you do. Moo.
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