Bullgoose’s cow bite is a bummer

I thought it was just me. Sometimes it is, but not this time. Something’s going on, and you need to listen to me.

I like cows. I do. I try to treat them well, and in the main they reciprocate, which is pretty damn decent of them, given the end we have planned for them.

OK, cattle can get a bit stroppy, like when you interrupt their cud chewing and vacant contemplation to run them through the yards and subject them to embarrassing procedures. I mean, suggest preg testing to a cow and she’d probably go, What? Pee on a stick, chill for three minutes and watch for the blue line/smiling bunny? Why not? Be worth it to find out whether there was more to Tosserbrae Imperial than just his high libido score. Lead on. But what actually happens when it’s her turn in the cattle crush? She’s approached from the rear by some menacing dude with a big hand in a long glove.

Whoa, steady! What are you up to back there? Cut that out! I hardly know you. Unbelievable! Moo! No wonder she delivers a lightning kick to the shin or groin.

Until now your aggro cow had three weapons: the kick, the horn and the stampede. OK, four, if you include the manure cannon. That’s changed. I don’t know if it’s evolution, inbreeding, global warming, Trump, or just random bovine bastardry, but placid Bessie is now a bitchin’ biter. Maybe they’re just copying horses. Maybe they’ve been reading Tennyson: Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw with ravine, shriek’d against his creed (Whatever that means).

‘Pshaw!’ I hear you scoff, ‘Everyone knows that cows have no upper incisors! The worst a cow could deliver would be a nasty suck!’ Well, I’ve three words for you, you nay-saying bite-denier: I got bit!

What’s going on?

First time was about a month ago. I was minding my own business, mooching around putting out a few cow pellets when something came up and bit me on the bum. No, dammit, on the arse. Hard. Geez it hurt. Squealing, I spun around to spot a gloating heifer (J 43) leering at me. I was stunned.

What could I do? I hadn’t actually seen her do it, but it was her, oh yes! She had this ‘Who? Me?’ look in her eye. The others were playing along, and I’d never break them.

So, I limped back to the house and bummed up to a mirror. There it was: a single row of tooth marks and some slimy drool. It’s happened three times since then. Different cows, same MO (or MOO?).

That drool had me worried. How dangerous is cow venom? What’s the correct treatment?

I always carry a snake bandage, so after the next attack I wrapped it around the cow’s moosh to make it look silly and embarrass it out of attacking. Maybe it’s having some effect. Time will tell.

Last night at Bonalbo Bowlo I waited until late, when guards were down, to broach the subject of cow bite with some local experts.

Lance Pencil, 35, know-all. Impossible!

Delreen Pencil, 35, marital martyr. Ha ha. You’re funny.

Don Fagen, 35, Steely Danster. It seems so clear that it’s over now. Drink your big Black Cow, and get out of here.

Frenchy Fargas, 35, nut job. You’ve been vaccinating your calves, haven’t you? You’re gonna reap just what you sow further on up the road, Eric Bloody Clapton! What? You don’t think the United Nations deep state climate fakers are recruiting animals? Wise up, Bullboy, and never discount giblets!

Burt Bacharach, 35, songwriter. What’s it all about, Alfie? Is it just for the moo-ment we live?

Percy Montez, 35, senior citizen. What? What?

Bob McNivett, 35, cattleman. You too? (sighs) At last! Yeah, I’ve been bit, but I’m too scared to tell anyone, lest they think I’m a few mickey bulls short of the full muster.

Piffy Oldmoney, 35, champion horsewoman. People think I’m such a good rider, but it’s fear. Fear! If it can’t be done from the saddle, I’m not doing it. I’m not getting down there amongst those, those… evil killer beasts. I’d sooner pash Barnalby Joyce! (shudders, sculls a rum).

Sertyn-Lee Bonkers, 35, homeopath. Yeah, cow venom. I water it down to nothing and put a drop under my tongue every morning. Cures my ADHD. Bored now.

Armed with these affirmations I phoned the Minister of Agriculture.

Her Assistant: Good morning. Are you the guy with the ring cushions?

Me: What? No, I want to tell the Minister about cow bites.

Her Assistant: You… Oh… Well, the minister is currently unavailable. Off… erm… sick.

Me: Sick? Ring cushions? Is she OK?

Her Assistant: I can’t… Undisclosed injury. Unfortunate bovine incident. Thanks for your call.

A lesson to us all.

Bullgoose

Read more Bullgoose here.

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