Why Cows Scare Me

Some of you already know.

This blog is for the people who don't.

Most of my blogs provide dissertations on what I see in the world around me. Today, I'm going to step away from the microscope, shake the hoof of destiny, and let you all into my mind and the dementia that resides in it.

Based on the title of this blog you might be wondering, "How could a 6'4", 225 pound guy who grew up in Central Falls, R.I. be afraid of cows? Was he 'milked' as a young boy or something?"

Valid thought.

Rest assured: I wasn't "milked" as a young boy. (Truth be told, though, I have been "milked" a few times in my adulthood and it feels pretty good. Unless the girl has cold hands. Brrrr.)

And, although I spent most of my childhood summers working on my grandfather's cow farm in Idaho, I never had a bad experience with cows.

[SIDE NOTE: START]

I did, however, have a bad experience with the chickens. I watched my mother catch one and chop off its head.

It's actually a little more complicated than that.

There was some fight in that chicken. My mother caught it, grabbed it by the legs and proceeded to bash it against a bale of hay until it stopped moving. Then, with bloody legs from being scratched by other chickens, my mother walked out of the pen and up onto Grandpa's outside deck. She grabbed the hatchet lying next to the tree stump that was used for these types of murderous acts and…

WHACK!!!!!!!

Blood squirted onto her face and arms. (insert Silence of the Lambs joke here ___________.)

Then, nonchalantly, Connie stood up and said, "Dinner's going to be ready soon."

It's SCARY shit when you're 10 and bear witness to your mother murdering a helpless little chicken. Trust me! People always made fun of me for being a "momma's boy" after that. Sure, laugh all you want, but I was scared shitless of my mother growing up. I needed to stay on her good "non-murdering-beheading-chicken" side.

[SIDE NOTE: END]

In reality, I developed quite an affinity for cows during my childhood. I eventually took one in as a pet. Her name was Winnie. Unfortunately, Winnie didn't survive her first winter as a calf. A very common loss on dairy farms. Say it with me, "AAAAWWWWWwwwwwwwwww..."

Moving along.

So why the fuck am I scared of cows? Here goes.

In the summer of '05 I was sleeping in my bed and dreaming. What was I dreaming about? Cows. But not your normal cows. And CERTAINLY not the happy, fun-loving joking cows that star in those "California Cheese" commercials.

These cows were mean. And, apparently, they were subject to about 100 million years of additional evolution because they were walking. Yup, they were bipeds. For the record, they moved pretty well considering their size, too.

In my dream, I found myself running through an empty field with a bunch of bovine on my tail. It was like having an entire football team that consisted of 700 pound lineman chasing me down. Oh, and did I mention they were swinging these enormous pole-axes at me?

Ya. No bueno.

Standing at the end of this field, with their backs toward me, were my Grandfather and my Mother representing a safety zone from my uncomfortable predicament. While running I kept screaming "COWS!!!!, COWS!!!!" in hopes of grabbing their attention to help me fend off the army of ax-wielding cows that wanted me dead. The biggest issue: it was a dream. And, as we all know, in any dream when you're running you're essentially running in place with no chance to out run whatever assailants are chasing you.

Why is that?

As I tried to motor closer to my safety zone the cows just kept gaining on me and, eventually, surrounded me. Being surrounded didn't slow my pace or soften my screams. I kept yelling and kept running...in place. After what seemed to be an eternity, my Grandfather and my Mother turned around. FINALLY! Whew. I'm saved!

Now here is where it gets weird. When Gramps and Mom turned around all the cows disappeared.

*POOF*

But they weren't gone. All the cows had transformed into Low-Fat Milk Cartons with MY PICTURE on the side as the "MISSING PERSON." As I looked around, confused, my Mom and Grandfather turned their backs to me again.

*POOF*

The army of ax-wielding cows were back and ready to swing. Just as the cows started to attack me, I violently sat up in bed and yelled, "COOOOWWWSSS!!!!" It was 3:27am. I was sweating and breathing heavy but found myself very safe in my bed.

As I lay back down my girlfriend took the opportunity to ask, "Do you know what you just screamed?" To which I replied, "Yup, COWS." Allowing her to sarcastically quip, "Mooooooo."

Ha, ha, right?

Wrong!

Dream or not, it's never fun to have angry, ax-touting bovine chasing you. And it never helps to be made fun of while in such a vulnerable place.

Never.