I Hate Cows

My cowHamburger, cheeseburger, chili, steak, meatloaf, and hamburger helper.  Ten o’clock at night, I continued to repeat my delicious resplendent mantra, which proved the sole remaining argument for another tour of the neighborhood.  Twenty-minutes ago, Shannon had bounded downstairs just as I decided to pop some Final Fantasy into the Xbox.

“Need any help?” I asked, believing his excitement to be physics related.

“Yeah, the cows got out again.  Get dressed.”

A few moments and several four-letter words later, my Explorer and I were rolling through the darkness herding bovines.  The night had clouded just before supper, and so despite initial attempts to peer into backyards and over fences, I abandoned all sightseeing, focusing on the few inches of bare asphalt before me (as Dasad could attest, my headlights suck).

The roads after all were the real problem.  No one knew when the animals escaped and within three or four hours the stupid beast might lumber into the road and kill a sleepy driver.  I’ve seen seen deer, even fawns, eviscerate cars; their bodies many times sprier and smaller than an adult heifer.    As Sean explained to Katie, it would be similar to colliding with a small tank.  And in the darkness the cow stood a better chance of surviving the encounter.

Yawning and a might nettled, I circled the neighborhood again, like a marshal patrolling the prison wall, half-hoping to crash into one of the animals myself: a cow, a deer, an antlered cow (the things had been in the woods for nearly three or four hours, who knows what cross-breeding could have occurred).

Yet in spite of my misery (looking back quite pathetic and shameful), my brothers fared far worse.  Thy whole motley group of siblings were trooping through the trees behind the barn, clapping their hands, and hooting like owls, which for some reason Ryan believed pacified the creatures but only managed to terrorize Kevin half-to-death.  Shortly after that, everyone joined in on the hooting and howling.  Kevin in his fear ran into a tree, desperately seeking my little sister, Brigid, who held the only flashlight.

After an hour as I was making my fifth revolution about the homestead, Mom called to say that Sean found his cows, holed deep in the woods somewhere.  The boys were driving them back to the barn.  My eyes sick with the same sights had grown weary and I was eager to pass out downstairs.  Kevin, who Shannon had roused from sleep earlier, grumbled up the hillside:

Stupid idiotic animals,” he muttered rubbing his sore nose. ” Stupid Shannon.  ‘Oh, you need to help, ’cause you fixed the fence.’  Well, if they weren’t so lazy and fix the electric fence, they’d never get out.  Stupid it’jits . . .”

Typically, it’s enjoyable to mess with Kevin when he’s in this particular frame of mind.  Anything from a simple “Hello” to “Dream of Toyota tonight” can unleash a tirade of grunts, shouts and ‘GRRRRRR . . . SHUTUP!”  However, tonight I sympathized with the little guy, and fell asleep almost as soon as he did, sailing to Nod on a silky sea of milk and meat-lovers pizza.

Advertisements

5 thoughts on “I Hate Cows

  1. Once again, I showcase my awesome Paintshop skills. I’m not sure whether I meant the white spots to resemble buckshot or not. Either way works as far as I’m concerned. The cow’s name is Dudley by the way.

  2. Will someone just screw those dang fence boards together. The fat cows are pushing out the nails.
    Side note: Pat would like to pass along another “I told you so” to Sean.
    Next time the cows get out, tell Sean to get them by himself. They are his cows and he refuses to fix the fence properly.
    Bah humbug, now I’m hungry.

  3. Sis-in-Law is pregnant for those of you not in-the-know and thus perpetually in need of food.

    FUN FACT: Like some kind of Incredible Hulk-gourmand, my sister-in-law’s hunger does increase in proportion to her anger. Whether this facet is solely the result of her pregnancy, I cannot say.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s