So, yesterday, I spent a lot of time writing a post for you. It was full of existential angst and deep thoughts. And as boring as shit. So I put it aside and thought, “Meh, not today. I will work on it tomorrow.”
AND THEN THIS HAPPENED.
And I thought SCREW THE EXISTENTIAL POSE, THIS IS COWS! So I will tell you about this instead.
So. As you may know, BDH plays soccer. He is a goalkeeper, and thus an endangered species. Because in soccer, nobody wants to play goal. Everyone wants to run around and SCORE goals.
So when he goes to soccer, he is often asked by other teams to play for them because they have no goalkeeper, or theirs is injured, or what have you. Which is what happened last night.
BDH went out to play his game for 9 pm. When his game was finished, he was asked by another team to play for them at 10 pm. And when THAT game was finished, at 11 pm, ANOTHER team asked him to play. So he did. And thus it as that he didn’t get out of the sports complex until after 12 am.
Now, we live in farm country. The breadbasket of Ontario. And it is also Mennonite country. So, despite the Tech Triangle and cities of over 100K within shouting distance, we also often have many, many farms between here and wherever it is we are going. And as it happens, BDH’s games were on the edge of town at a complex surrounded by farms.
And, last night, we were having some weather. Our normal last blast of wintry weather that comes in the first week of April before spring well and truly arrives. It was not fit for man nor beast outside. Which is why it was an extra special bit of WTFery for BDH to get in his car, head off down the country road from the complex and toward home, and down a hill, only to find…
A herd of cows, milling about the road. Some trotting jauntily along. Like they had just busted out of the joint or something, and were headed into town to the pub to partake of some proverbial wild oats.
So, the wind is blowing, snow is drifting. And there are cows. So BDH pulls off to the side of the road, for fear of hitting, you know, any one of a number of bovine friends. And thinks, what to do?
The answer, I can tell you, is NOT to get out and make that “scoo! scoo!” flappy hands gesture, trying to shoo your animal friends in a certain direction. Because partying cows? THEY WILL NOT BE SHOO-ED. Oh no. They immediately turn around and are all YO YO YO MAH BITCHEZZZ WASSSUUUUP and come trotting toward you, all friendly-like.
Being chest-bumped by a fairly large bovine, even in a friendly “wassup” kind of a way, is NOT what you want at 12:30 am on a deserted country road in blowing and drifting snow. Oh no it is not.
Now, perhaps — given that it WAS cold and snowy and these cows were out and about on a road when CLEARLY they should have been tucked up in a barn somewhere — perhaps it was more a case that these cows were all EXCUSE ME, KIND SIR, WE SEEM TO HAVE LOST OUR WAY IN THE SNOW, WOULD YOU BE ABLE TO PLEASE DIRECT US TO THE NEAREST AGRICULTURAL FACILITY IN WHICH WE MAY BE ABLE TO SEEK SOME ACCOMMODATION, AND PERHAPS SOME OATS?
But BDH does not, sadly, speak Cow. And thus is was that he beat a hasty retreat back into his car — which was then, inevitably, ENVELOPED by a sea of COW — and found himself calling the local police.
If it had been a four-car — or even a four-cow — pile-up on the road, the police would have been there in a flash. But as it was just adventuresome cows, BDH found himself sitting there, adrift in a sea of mooing bovine friends, for three-quarters of an hour until a police officer arrived. A police officer, it must be said, who must have drawn the short straw to have been dispatched on such an assignment as this.
And, when the officer did pull up, BDH greeted him apologetically. The unfortunate officer said ruefully, “This is not the first time this has happened.”
At which point, no doubt, there was some muffled chuckling amid the herd.
So BDH left the officer in the care of his newfound cow friends to go knocking on farmhouse doors, which for all I know involved holding up a cow and asking the farmer in question “Does this belong to you?”, and headed for home.
When I told him he should go back today and ask compensation from the farmer for his time, he agreed. Although the look of horror that passed over his face when I mentioned payment in STEAKS is probably understandable.
“No. No way. I KNOW those cows.”