“Lucy!” I called from the far end of the pasture beside the barn. In a perfect world, Lucy would have recognized my voice, raised her regal, Tennessee Walker head, and whinnied in reply. Then she’d have rushed to meet me - mane and tail flowing, chestnut coat gleaming in the sun - as she galloped across a golf course-smooth field of grass in slow motion. A filmmaker’s wet dream.
Alas, none of the above happened. The brisk breeze blowing that day - full of pollen, dust, and the restless conversations of pine trees - was carrying both my voice and my scent away from Lucy. Not only couldn’t she hear or smell me but she was engrossed in nose-to-nose smell fest with five newborn calves as well. The calves’ mothers - rust brown Herefords with white faces, pink noses, and curly forelocks that looked like they’d been dipped in hair gel, were lying a few feet away, chewing their cuds and feigning interest in the proceedings.
“Fine, be that way,” I muttered as I set off across the newly plowed and reseeded field full of potholes, lumps of dirt the size of cannonballs, and horse manure.
I’d been hearing about the new “business endeavor” since December when the five pregnant heifers first took up residence in the field beside Lucy. While preparations for their arrival had been extensive and thorough - ranging from calculating the cost of feed, fencing, and vet bills to locating gates, water tubs, and aluminum wire - I strongly suspected that ulterior motives were at work. This was pure speculation of course, based on the exceptional care and affection enjoyed by Rocky and Lucy, but as soon as I heard that the newborn calves were following their person, Mike, around like playful puppies and using his legs as scratching posts, I knew my suspicions were correct. These cows were far more than a business proposition, and I could hardly wait to meet them.
But the first order of business that day was to check on Lucy. When I finally got close enough for her to see and smell me, she ambled over, shoved her nose into my hand, and asked to have her ears rubbed. As we caught up on one another’s news, the calves gathered beside the fence staring wide-eyed and curious at our public display of affection. When Lucy reached over my shoulder and pulled me against her chest for a hug there were loud snorts of astonishment. Calves, I concluded, are equipped with emotional radar and wanted in on the action.
Fortunately, they didn’t have long to wait. Mike’s arrival was heralded by Mama Boss Cow who bellowed long and loud when she heard his truck approaching. This was the signal for the whole herd to start making its way down towards the barn. Lucy and I followed, watching as Mike slipped through the pasture gate and greeted each mother and calf with reassuring murmurs and scratches in all their favorite spots. When my friend and I joined him, he explained proper cow etiquette, '“Allow them to smell us, no sudden movements, and don’t try to pet them on the face,” he said. “Try scratching behind their ears or under their chins first.” Got it.
What followed was both an eye-opening love fest and a reminder that all living things want and like to give affection. I’ve known this about horses since I was six and snuck into a neighbor’s paddock to sit between the enormous hooves of a 16.4-hand Percheron mare who kindly babysat me - nickering reassuringly and gently playing with my pigtails - until my frantic parents showed up. But until four days ago I’d never had the privilege of meeting and being bathed by a cow. It turns out that cows use their rough, cat-like tongues to clean their coats and show affection to one another. They are also very curious about human clothing. Once you become part of their extended family, they seem to feel it’s their duty to not only wash you (we stink of all kinds of offensive soaps, lotions, and deodorants) but examine everything you’re wearing as well.
The first to approach me was the youngest heifer. She’d been eyeing me since I first showed up to talk to Lucy. She sidled up behind me, grabbed one of my shirttails, and started to chew. I immediately turned, tugged the shirt out of her mouth, and offered her a scratch beneath the chin instead. She seemed to think this was an acceptable bribe, but insisted on licking my right hand throughout the rest of our tour. Though Mike has yet to name any of the babies, I immediately started calling her Maggie Moo.
It turns out that there was a lot to see and learn about cattle, but I came away from my first meet-and-greet focused on how intelligent, curious, and affectionate they are. If you’ve never met or spent time with a cow, make plans to do so immediately. Providing they haven’t been taught to fear human beings, the cows you meet will change how you see yourself and your relationship to other living things. “Love is love,” as Mike likes to say, and cows are some of the sweetest lovebugs on the planet. Let me know if you agree.
Jena
P.S. Which species do you have a particular affinity and affection for?
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Cows are wonderful! - Like all living beings, they have distinct personalities. They can be shy, loving, playful, but also territorial and defensive. I find it interesting that they couldn't care less about loud machine noise (like: riding a dirt bike in their pasture), but will startle at a leaf tumbling onto their nose.
What a fabulous story. Lucy will enjoy the company of her bovine friends. And yes, animals like humans, want to feel loved and included. Those who truly love and rescue animals are heroes in my book.
No cow encounters except at the State Fair. Horses, yes. Standing in a field of a friend of my step mother's with my back turned towards the herd brought the horses closer and eventually they were nudging me, clearly accepting my presence in their space. Allowing me to pet them. Magical.