Hello there...welcome to Muppeta's world!
We'll begin with a mirthful tale of mardy farm animals. Whilst out walking yesterday in the wonderfully dramatic Leicestershire countryside (and by wonderfully dramatic I mean prosaically pastoral), my boyfriend and I began meandering across a field that had a smattering of adolescent bovines in the far corner. Nothing remarkable in that - indeed, we had passed through two almost identically populated fields only minutes previously...but there was something different about these particular herbivorous ruminants. Maybe they were just bored - being a cow can't be the most action-packed existence on earth - maybe it was just the bovine equivalent of teenage angst, or maybe they were just plain nails, who knows, but what began as a seemingly harmless inquisitive look in our direction soon became, well, frankly bordering on terrifying. I don't know if you've ever seen a herd of 12 cows start to run at you, but take it from me, it's at once hilarious and bleeding scary.
I don't think my brain knew at all how to cope with this bizarre turn of events - the ringleader of these ASBO worthy quadrupeds (I know, I'm running out of cow analogies now) was heading straight for me at quite a pace, yet all I could think was 'but it's a cow for Christs' sake!' 'Yes - a cow - heavy and hoofy - run like f*ck!' Is what I should have been thinking. Fortunately, my boyfriend had the presence of mind to give the cows a taste of their own medicine, and advanced menacingly on the cows with his best Manc swagger...and then we both ran like f*ck from whence we came, over the stile and in to the safety of the neighbouring field (also full of cows, but the benign, friendly kind - thank god). By the time we had crossed that field, I had just about stopped laughing at our cow-related near mishap, and the sinister f*ckers were still staring at us, bunched around the stile over which we had made our hasty retreat.
I like to think that maybe they just thought we were bringing them food (even though cows eat grass...I think) and didn't really mean us any harm - but then I remember the icy expression behind those long, unblinking eyelashes; cold and confrontational - and wonder if maybe it's the start of some kind of sinister cow uprising. Either way, if you learn one thing today, make it this - cows: they're not clever, but they are quite big - and I reckon a misplaced hoof could do a lot of damage. Respect our beef giving countryside compatriots, and give them as wide a berth as possible.
We'll begin with a mirthful tale of mardy farm animals. Whilst out walking yesterday in the wonderfully dramatic Leicestershire countryside (and by wonderfully dramatic I mean prosaically pastoral), my boyfriend and I began meandering across a field that had a smattering of adolescent bovines in the far corner. Nothing remarkable in that - indeed, we had passed through two almost identically populated fields only minutes previously...but there was something different about these particular herbivorous ruminants. Maybe they were just bored - being a cow can't be the most action-packed existence on earth - maybe it was just the bovine equivalent of teenage angst, or maybe they were just plain nails, who knows, but what began as a seemingly harmless inquisitive look in our direction soon became, well, frankly bordering on terrifying. I don't know if you've ever seen a herd of 12 cows start to run at you, but take it from me, it's at once hilarious and bleeding scary.
I don't think my brain knew at all how to cope with this bizarre turn of events - the ringleader of these ASBO worthy quadrupeds (I know, I'm running out of cow analogies now) was heading straight for me at quite a pace, yet all I could think was 'but it's a cow for Christs' sake!' 'Yes - a cow - heavy and hoofy - run like f*ck!' Is what I should have been thinking. Fortunately, my boyfriend had the presence of mind to give the cows a taste of their own medicine, and advanced menacingly on the cows with his best Manc swagger...and then we both ran like f*ck from whence we came, over the stile and in to the safety of the neighbouring field (also full of cows, but the benign, friendly kind - thank god). By the time we had crossed that field, I had just about stopped laughing at our cow-related near mishap, and the sinister f*ckers were still staring at us, bunched around the stile over which we had made our hasty retreat.
I like to think that maybe they just thought we were bringing them food (even though cows eat grass...I think) and didn't really mean us any harm - but then I remember the icy expression behind those long, unblinking eyelashes; cold and confrontational - and wonder if maybe it's the start of some kind of sinister cow uprising. Either way, if you learn one thing today, make it this - cows: they're not clever, but they are quite big - and I reckon a misplaced hoof could do a lot of damage. Respect our beef giving countryside compatriots, and give them as wide a berth as possible.
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