Have I mentioned that my dog, Max, is overjoyed? Here in Cambridge, the return of warm weather brings
cattle to Midsummer Common?
On our walks there, he pulls me toward the cattle, or, more precisely,
the bulls – they’re all, 20 something of them, bulls. My other dog, Maya, ever fearful of them,
pulls me away. From any distance, our
walks across the Common must seem rather comical.
I have to admit that, personally, I have a healthy respect for cattle. When I was young, my father used to farm me
out to a friend who owned a dairy herd in southern Indiana. There, I was a prized summer hand. The cattle loved me.
Dairy cattle you may know have to come in at the crack of dawn for a
regular milking. This particular herd
was ruled by a matron. Bossy, she was
called for obvious reason, refused to budge toward the milking stables until
she felt appropriate respect. Bossy
would move for no one, on no amount of prodding and for no temptation. But, she would move at the sight of me. Some people move heaven and earth. Others part water or walk on it. Some levitate. I once had an odd power over a peculiar cow. Hell-bent, Bossy would come running for me. She’d usually pin me up against a fence or
barn wall and gently – you might say, lovingly - head-butt me. It was always a pretty frightening experience.
I lived in fear that I’d end up in a
shot-gun wedding to a cow. Once the
farmer’s wife realized what was happening that was the end of it. Mornings there after usually began with yells
of “Run, kid. Run.” with Bossy in hot pursuit; the both of us running
toward the milkers.
The other day, Max pulled me right through the middle of the herd. One curious bull took an interest in him. Before we’d made our way through the herd, Max
and the bull were nose to nose. Max
decided that sitting was in order at that very point – probably fearful that a
wagging tale might be too encouraging of the bull. Then, Max did what Max always does when he
comes nose to nose with another creature. He stuck out his tongue and licked. The bull seemed to be only slightly surprised.
The expression, if bulls can be said to
have expressions, seemed to be one of mild amusement followed by curiosity. For the rest of our walk across the Common,
that bull followed us, pursued in turn by his entire herd. Max seemed both fearful and proud of his
adoption into the herd. I was having
flashbacks to Bossy. Maya, fortunately
for all of us, was with David that day, and, lagged behind everyone … including
David, who seemed to be dragging her across the Common.
Our most recent foray across the Common portends - augers, even,
if this repetition can be said to trend – the coming summer’s fun. On this walk, Max spied the cattle through the
long grass, from the far end of the expanse. They were lounging beneath the walnut tree
that, come Fall, will gather humans straining to pick its fruits before they
fall. It was a mad dash – I should
emphasize, mad: crazy, insane - as Max dragged Maya and me across the
flats in the direction of cattle with nothing better to do than to watch grass
grow. And, what did my honorary brother
of the bulls do, having come to the cattle? Why, he threw himself down beside one of the
bulls, and, refused to be budged for the longest time. He was in his element.
On the walk home, we had the conversation that every boy and his dog
have sooner or later. You know where
your din-din [canned food] comes from, don’t you? I asked. He didn’t seem to care. I’ve long suspected that grains and vegetables
replaced meat in those cans.
(originally posted to person [now defunct] blog in 2010)
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