What were the cow’s intentions? We’ll never know.
But in one second, there it was.
And one second later, the face came through the open window and licked my forearm.
With its rough, green tongue.
Maybe I screamed.
Or maybe not.
It’s a blur.
I definitely made a noise of some kind, though—loud enough to get that cow, and apparently the whole herd that was right behind it, to gallop away a few steps, before seeming to run out of energy, slow to a stop, and turn to stare at me.
At this point, I, in the Range Rover, was surrounded by a whole herd of white, floppy-necked, sad-faced cows.
And I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t scary.
Of course, cows aren’t generally regarded as terrifying creatures. But here’s what you never realize when you see them on milk cartons, or on TV, or even in some distant field: They. Are. Enormous.
They make even Jack Stapleton look small.
So even though I was safely encased in a luxury SUV, I could still feel my heart going double-time in my chest. I was surrounded by them. A hundred? A thousand? A whole hell of a lot. All with limpid black eyes, and surprisingly feminine lashes, staring point-blank into my soul.
Whatever noise I’d just made, it startled Jack, too.
At the sound, he turned and started running back toward the car—and the genuine concern I saw on his face right then only amplified my anxiety.
In my defense, here are the facts as I experienced them: 1. I was attacked by a cow.
2. Fine. I screamed.
3. Jack Stapleton came running.
Doesn’t that feel like cause for concern?
At the edge of the herd, Jack slowed, adjusting into a calm saunter, but he kept his eyes on me. He entered the crowd of beasts and walked calmly among them until he’d reached the driver’s door.
He climbed in.
“What happened?” he said then, looking me over, all intense.
I blinked, like Duh.
“Are you hurt? What was it?”
“What was it?” I said. “Look around!”
Jack looked around—but didn’t seem to see anything. “What am I looking for?”
“What are you looking for?” I asked, and then I launched my arm in a panoramic, as if to say, Behold. Terror in all directions.
Now his expression was shifting. “Do you mean…” And then he gave the tiniest headshake, like he was rejecting the guess even as he was making it: “The cows?”
Keeping my eyes on his, I nodded.
“The cows?” he confirmed. “We’re talking about the cows? That’s why you just screamed?”
I tried to recalibrate. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re fully surrounded.”
“Yeah,” he said. “By cows.”
I could feel his tone shifting, but I wasn’t sure what it was shifting to. “There are millions of them,” I said.
“There are thirty,” he said, “to be exact. A herd.”
“Are they…” I didn’t quite know how to put it. “Angry?”
Jack squinted a little. “Do they look angry?”
I double-checked my read on them, just baldly standing there, staring. “It feels a little aggressive.”
Jack turned to me then, in fascination. “Are you afraid of these cows?”
“I’m not going to comment on that.”
“You, who flipped me on my ass without even trying?”
“These cows make you look like a dollhouse person.”
“But you know that cows are gentle creatures, right?”
“I’ve heard of people getting trampled by cows. That happens.”
“Well, sure. If you trip and fall right in front of one that’s already running, maybe. But on the aggression scale…” He tilted his head and thought about it. “Nope. They’re not even on the scale.”
Now I felt like I had to stand up for myself. “I wasn’t the only person scared just now. You came running like a shot.”
“Yeah. Because you screamed.”
“Why did you think I did that?”
“I didn’t know. Copperhead snake? Fire ant attack? Murder hornets? Something scarier than cows?”
But whose side was I going to take besides my own? I doubled down and declared: “One of them attacked me.”
“Define ‘attacked.’”
“It licked me. With intention.”
Now he was suppressing a smile. “You mean, as if it might—what? Eat you?”
“Who knows what its endgame was?”