lying in bed. cows in the road.

it’s eight am and im sleeping in after a long, sweet, drunk reunion with good friends.  considering its frigid outside and sheets of rain are blanketing the fields, I figured the best use of my time was horizontal, head to pillow.  if I had a pressurized michael jackson sleeping chamber, I’d be in it.  rest, for me, is the sweet road to success.

it’s eight oh five and the phone rings.  the cops called.  the cows are out.  like a fallen ninja, back to the ground, i alley-ooped myself off the mattress, my feet propelling me up through the air, and landed two feet together into my overalls.  snapped em at the shoulders, pulled down my beaten leather hat to cover my disheveled bedhead jewfro, and faster than a speeding bullet i was down the road a quarter mile looking at two thousand pounds of beast inches off a sixty mile per hour thruway. 

unluckily for me, the cop must have felt he had somehow contained the situation, because upon my arrival he had already fled the scene.  a dangerous decision on his part, as car to cow could easily have lead to death for both.

this is it now.  this is the moment.  man to beast.  man becomes beast.  my shoulders roll gently forward, and the crown of my head gently back.  arms up and out, line a linebacker.  feet, shoulder width apart with gym-class-precision.  there’s nothing in between this hungry beast and a dangerous road besides me and a plastic stick. 

we’re eye to eye now--our breaths are in synch.  small sprits of warm mist billow out of his wet nose as he chomps the never eaten grass which lines the road ditch.  cold droplets splashing on the back of my craned neck roll down between my shirt and skin.  his eyes, of course, squarely on me.  short, animalistic grunts and “hya’s” flow out of me with every movement.  it’s a primeval moment for a modern man, and it brings you into a totally foreign zone.  his zone.  the beast.    

with the right amount of pressure, and a bucket of alfalfa cubes (cow crack) jon brought down from the barn, we successfully drove the two loose cows off the road, down a hundred yard driveway, and back into the safety of the herd.  a small hole in the fence is all it takes, and after two days of intense storms it’s not much of a surprise a weakness chose this morning to finally give way.   

it’s eight thirty now, time for some eggs.