In a few weeks we will be moving to a new house here in town, as our lovely landlords will be returning from Australia and need their house back.
And inasmuch as I love the quirkiness of this house, the garden, the great location, the fab neighbors and – my favorite, the amazing Stoves range*, the next house has double-paned glass, insulation and a two-car garage.
*This Richmond Stoves range has seven burners people – SEVEN – and while, no I haven’t used them all at once, I could if I wanted to…
It will be, however, a less easy walk to school with the kids.
“But there is a lovely walking path into town, from a nearby field” says the Hubs, a bit disparagingly.
Yep. Like Pea is going to walk through a field, cross a steam, climb over a fence to get home from school. In her patent leather Mary Janes.
I decided to check out the simplicity of the trek myself, with a hyper Macy taking Pea’s place.
We walked down the farm lane to the new house, then, checking my watch, set off for the path.
Through an open gate, easy. Short field, actually…oh shit. Literally. Cow poo everywhe…ah…Wait.
That should be sheep poo.
As I rounded the corner to get to the steam I need to cross, I found the source of the poo: there was a cow, standing right behind the bridge I need to cross.
And one up the path.
As I stared at this unexpected discovery, Cow #1 stepped onto the bridge. Oh. This is not good.
As Boo would say “Me no likey cows.”
Still…it looked like rain, we’d already been on a long walk,and I wanted to get home and to my cup of tea. I didn’t want to turn around and schlep home the way we came.
I sidled to the left, further up the bank, to see if I could cross further up. Maybe get past cow #3 at the top of the hill.
Forgetting, of course, that cows are curious. Cow #1 promptly crossed the bridge. And followed us around the tree.
Well, now, here’s a pickle. Trapped.
Thankfully, Cow #2 and Cow #3 were equally curious and they came further down the path to figure out what #1 was looking at.
urged Macy over the creek and up the bank to the path. I quickly climbed over the fence only to discover that Macy was not by the bit she needed to climb through. She was curled up in a ball where the hedge met the fence – the opposite side of the gate where she needed to go through. I tugged at her lead, but no go. dragged
The cows were now close. Quite close. Noses bowed down to peer at Macy.
To my left I heard a plainful “Mooooooooooooo”. Oh, goody. About 10 cows were idling over to where I stood, curiosity tweaked by
my high pitched squeak anxious pleading my magnetic presence at the gate.
And my dog is now practically in fetal position on the other side of the gate.
Desperate, I hauled her up, first by the lead, then by her collar until I had enough dog to get a firm hold of, and dragged all 15 kilo of her over the fence.
As we walked away, the cows began to follow us, moooing at us.
We walked away quickly. I was trying not to run, images of Southwestern-style cow stampedes dancing in my panicked head. I looked casually over my shoulder.
Now the entire herd was following us. Mooing.
Never was I so relieved to get OUT of a field. I think even Macy let out a sigh of relief.
And embarrassed, because I was freaked out by a cow.
In retaliation, I grilled hamburgers for supper that night.
* * *
Postscript: This weekend the entire family, including Macy, went for another long walk. We took the kids through the field, and thankfully, the cows just watched us walk across their field, but didn’t even get up from where they lay.
I still don’t like cows.
Unless they are on my plate.