Bovine Lust

Autor Anonym
A year ago today my husband nearly died on this mountain. That morning, he woke up complaining that he had dreamt of "the skeleton who cuts the hay." "Not hay!" I said; "souls isn't it?"

Just like today it was a lovely, clear late-summer day. George's family is from this area, so we were staying in an ancient drafty hut with a “stube,” (a kind of cosy parlour) neck-height doors, wood fire oven and weird drying racks. A cousin brings his guests here as a kind of museum trip.

We put on our boots and walked. Soon we came off the road onto the track at the bottom of valley and a young bull came to meet us.

George grabbed the cow by his head, kissed him and told him he was "very pretty, a gorgeous, sweet creature." The cow didn't pull back, but gazed back at him. In hindsight, I think the cow had an idea in his tiny mind. We walked off the track straight up the hill. It was steep, with pine trees almost vertical with the land. Since we were there to go mushrooming we didn't really worry about which direction we were going, instead we just followed likely green patches. I thought, anyway, we can easily get back to the path because I can hear the cow bell tolling.

Next thing, George giggled; the cow was licking his leg. Each step he took, the cow followed closer and licked again. As an ex-herder George explained, "He likes the salt of my sweat; this is normal." I didn't realise cows could walk up 70 degree slopes. I'm from Ireland and cows are always in huge numbers and, on the flat, they eat grass; they don't like humans. We carried on up the hill and he still followed.

The cow was starting to freak me out and I was afraid he would fall and hurt himself. Obviously lonely, he was now following our every move; he mooed and, with his bell clanging, looked at George with his pretty eyes through thick lashes.

Although we were on holiday, George had left his phone on because he had business to do. It rang and he perched himself on a rocky outcrop, a sort of small cliff and talked business: a beautiful place to conduct an important phone meeting with a long view to the other side of the high valley, fresh air and clear mind.
Suddenly I saw the cow approaching him quickly, mounting his man-body from an up-hill position with either hoof astride each shoulder, thrusting his lower haunches at George's own rump and bellowing. I think the cow wanted more than just his salt. Imagine: the mooing, the yells alternating with the now halting business talk, the precarious rocky edge, I was giggling too, but half in fear, as I could see that this small cow was actually much heavier than George.

It seemed very likely that, should the couple fall, it would be fatal to both of them: 2 meters vertically down followed by a pine cushioned but extremely steep slope with irregular sharp branches sticking out here and there.

I clambered down intending to somehow wrestle the cow off his back, but George pushed back against the heaving horny beast, struggling to get the front legs from around his torso and twisting out of the sex/death embrace. At full speed we scaled the hill until we found a fence and vaulted to safety.

Dumb, bovine lust had almost killed my husband. As we walk back out on the road again, the reapers of Martell were cutting hay.
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