Summers on the farm, I'd take a book out to the pasture and read to the cows. Although the book had nothing to do with it, cows will come and form a protective, attentive circle around you if you sit quietly.
My favorite cow story, however, involved an old lady (not me!) who was going to be away from the farm awhile, so she hired a couple older boys to come take care of the milk cow twice a day. After offering them a good dollar, she set the hook with another tip: the milk cow didn't really like men so they'd have to wear a dress when doing the work. Otherwise the cow would fight them. Turned out to be true. I don't know that the story itself is true, but cows certainly have their own personalities and quirks.
No, maybe my favorite cow story is one I can vouch for because I'm the perpetrator. Wound up at an aunt and uncle's farm one summer, which was a big mistake because Uncle Azur was a real fire and brimstone preacher who believed in corporal punishment. But he didn't dare do anything himself because he knew what my dad would do to him. So he'd hand Aunt Star a belt and send her with me into the bedroom for my punishment. She'd yell at me, slam the door shut, and then whale away on the bed, making a great noise while I pretended to beg for mercy. By the time we came out, we both had tears streaming down our faces (from silent laughter) and the old coot would be satisfied that justice had been done.
I didn't consider justice done, however, until the Sunday I feigned illness and begged off going to church with them. Didn't want to hear another sermon about women's wicked ways. As I sat on the front porch, inspiration struck. The milk cow in the front pasture bordering the highway was NAKED! Determined to teach her the error of her ways, I took a pair of Uncle Azur's bib overalls off the clothesline, cut them to fit the job, and somehow managed to attach them to a very mellow old cow so that her bag wouldn't show.
She just kept munching along as if nothing in her world had changed at all. I stayed on the porch, rocking away and waiting for church to let out, knowing that most of the attendees would pass by in plain sight on their way home. They must've approved, because quite a few honked their horns in passing and waved at me. I waved back, happy as a clam. When Uncle Azur's truck appeared, though, I could hear him swearing at the top of his lungs so I ran and hid.
But I'll guarantee you one thing, they took me home that day and I was never forced to visit again, not even under parental supervision. I guess he banned me.
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