Ah, welcome home to me. I’m going down a backroad this morning, and I see a lone cow standing near the side of the road, eating grass in an empty field. An unfenced field. Oops, not where that cow is supposed to be. So I head further down the road, to the nearest house. I know they keep cattle, and they’re frequently up and about when I go through there in the morning, so I’m going to tell them there’s a cow loose, and they can go see if it’s theirs.
When I go around the curve, however, I have to stop because there’s a whole herd of cows-including calves–in the middle of the road. There’s a large dumptruck in the other lane, also waiting to come through. Three men are trying to herd them off the road. I rolled down my window and told one of them about the other cow, way down the road. He just shook his head and said, “They’re not ours, but we know who they belong to. We’ll get them all.”
(That’s not my picture of the cows, by the way. Even if I had thought to take a picture with my phone, I don’t have the capability of e-mailing it to myself, so that’s no help.)
I have lived in Middle Tennessee for a little over six years, and in that time, I have gotten stuck behind two herds of cows and a herd of horses. I’ve also stopped to tell someone they had a calf out running loose (although it was just running down the side of the road).
But I guess I was lucky they weren’t packing UZIs.