If I’m being truthful it’s more of a runs from cows situation…
Yesterday, after we got through a semi- productive day of home learning, Father of Gingers came home from work, and offered me a chance to
run for the hills get out for a walk to get some exercise, fresh air, and the chance to complete a thought without interruption. It was, as they say, an offer I couldn’t refuse.
I got into my workout clothes, grabbed my earphones and phone and
made my bid for freedom headed out the door. Living in the English countryside means options when it comes to our allotted outdoors time right now, something I am very grateful for. I decided to walk up to the next village, cut down behind the church, go down through the field where the cows are, take the footbridge over the river, walk by the sheep field towards the next town, then turn around and come back. We’ve done this walk as a family several times, and I usually wind up wearing Little Ginger in the toddler backpack for at least part of the trip, so I thought it would be nice to do on my own, and maybe even throw some running into the mix…
I headed off, listened to a Marco Polo from a friend, and then attempted to record my reply while walking. There are people who are coordinated enough to exercise and send messages at the same time.
Unsurprisingly, I am not one of them.
I managed to send off a message in which I only forgot to answer 80% of the questions I had been asked and not fall in a hedge, so that was a win, and I continued down the road. I did a bit of jogging and was feeling pretty good by the time I reached the church and the field behind the church. I had big plans to run through the field to the foot bridge. I stopped to take another video for the Marco Polo message of the scenery. Said scenery is so quintessentially British countryside that one expects to see Mr. Darcy (played by Colin Firth, preferably) striding over a hill at any moment to offer a mildly withering comment. To be honest, if you factor in my workout outfit, we’re probably looking at a level ten withering comment.
As I stopped to do this, I realized that the small herd of cows that occupy the field were not on the far side of the field but laying down right right on the side of the path I usually take down the hill to the bridge. This gave me pause, given my less than stellar track record with wild life. I decided to ignore the little voice in my head that was frantically reminding me that cows are freaking ginormous and that I always forget this fact until I’m up close and personal with a member of the bovine community.
I started to go down the footpath at a very cautious jog/ walk, keeping an eye on the
potential killers cows. Then I realized there was at least one baby cow in the entourage. My first thought was, “oh how sweet” rather than, “hey, most animals are super protective of their babies.” This is why I wouldn’t last long in the wild.
Then two cows stood up very quickly. One, a rather sizey brown cow, turned to face me head on, and started to stare me down while standing right in my path. She was looking at me like she just knew my favorite bag is made of leather.
I don’t think she was waiting for me to ask her, “How now, brown cow?”
At this point my brain was causally
shrieking asking me, “I can’t remember, is it a fact that cows kill more people than sharks, or is it lightening, or maybe plane crashes? Anywho, maybe, just maybe, it’s time for us to skedaddle, shall we?”
Taking the cows-as-harbingers-of-doom statistics into consideration- I started to rethink my plan. I then factored in the fact that Father of Gingers has repeatedly stated he is not prepared to be a single parent and I started to turn around. Yet another cow stood up to provide backup to her sisters in being surprisingly menacing for animals that feature prominently in such classics as “Old MacDonald” and are frequently portrayed as wise and gentle in a number of children’s movies.
At that point I decided that running back up the hill was the best choice as having she was trampled to death by cows in a pandemic written about me felt a little bit excessive and definitely not how I would want to be remembered.
On the upside- I knocked some serious time off my mile time average. I continued on to a cow-free route and finished up my outside time. Then I realized- I’m totally like Ernest Hemingway…
He ran with bulls, I ran
with away from cows- practically the same thing, right?
I’ve never driven an ambulance in wartime, though.
I’m honestly not a fan – this really wasn’t the best comparison…
I wonder if Jane Austen had any close cow calls?