Love you till the cows come home

We’ve all seen the darling images, which depict the more rural lifestyle. The cute little salt and pepper shakers with the proverbial black and white cow smiling up at you, the decorative yard flag with the happy cows, the adorable “love you till the cows come home” plaque and even the occasion tasteless pitcher in the form of an utter.

I can recall the sweet little cow on the milk carton at the supermarket.

We also have the functional cow crossing signs that line our roadways heading out to Stallion Springs and in other more remote areas.

Living in Tehachapi, we are accustomed to seeing many of these endearing artifacts that grace our homes, stores and streets.

I am now convinced that these items original purpose was to ease small children’s night terrors after encountering the actual beasts, because the cows that I recently found on my front porch were not that cute.

No demure creatures were they – and they were merely the milk-cow variety and not the bull-at-the-rodeo version.

These cows were big. How big? A lot bigger than my salt and pepper shaker. Have you seen the gigantic rooster originally from Jack Palance’s ranch that now rules Banducci Rd? They were way bigger than that. By the way, that’s not life-size either (for those of us who hail from the more urban areas).

As I stared out my front window at the herd descending upon us like the Biblical locusts of Egypt, I panicked over the eminent destruction that our front yard faced, and the potential gifts that cows are accustomed to leaving (those things that inspire young children’s imaginations, and sometimes that of full grown adult males).

Armed with this knowledge, I flew out of the door waving my hands at these unwelcomed visitors.

As slow and slothful as they might appear to be at first, cows are anything but that, once startled. Actually, “faster-than-a-speeding-bullet”, came to mind as they responded to my obvious belligerence; “more-powerful-than-a-locomotive” was my next thought, as they plowed down the mailbox and everything else in their path; “able-to-leap-tall-buildings-in-a-single-bound”, I could now believe that the cow had in fact jumped over the moon, quite possibly from my very yard.

Instantly, I was aware of the immense power of these once seemingly meek creatures. As I watched this stampede, immediately I understood the thrill of the safari. I was invigorated by its rawness and glimpsed the wonder Rudyard Kipling must have felt while disembarking in India. I was changed,so was the yard.

Shall we say that it was now “aerated”?

I assessed the wreckage: noted the sprinkler head kicked to oblivion, a lovely geyser now graced my yard, the mailbox reclined on its side.

Now a call to action: If you are familiar with any person possessing, acquiring or encouraging free range cows as portrayed in this scenario, please have them contact the California Animal Control for proper licensing, so they may be arrested. Your cooperation is much appreciated.