I need to confess something to you. Today a friend called me for the sole purpose of telling me that she was driving past a cow pasture.



This does not mean anything to most people, but I guess I'm not most people.

I have a very active fear of cows. Being from the city region I never realized this until later on in life. I visited a farm recently and was surprised to find that standing beside a cow completely unnerved me. I told myself that this was silly, but I can't seem to get over it. I tried again at a later date--nope, still scared. I don't go into hysterics or run away screaming, but if I had to decide between having blood drawn or being in the same room with a cow I'd pick the needle every time.

I pondered where this odd phobia came from and after consulting my parents, and mulling over it many a time I finally remembered--I was once chased by a cow!

My great uncle has always owned a cattle ranch. We visited him once when I was younger--probably 8 or 9 years old. Naturally, the adults sent the children outside to take over the world with sticks and such, and I ended up in the pasture with a go cart and a few miscellaneous second and third cousins. Of course there was a leader of the pack--his name was Dylan. My brother and I really respected him because not only had he survived the most injuries (he had scars to prove it) but his mullet and farm knowledge combination caused all the other kids to have a holy reverence toward him--clearly he knew the secrets of the world. We didn't know it at the time, but this Dylan kid was bad news. Shortly into our adventure he suggested a new game. He pointed into the other field--we all looked and saw a baby calf with it's momma. Being a young girl I thought it was absolutely the most precious thing I'd ever seen. Dylan, being the evil dictator that he was knew I would have this response so he encouraged me to go into the other pasture and play with. Still stunned by the cuteness before me, I agreed. All the other kids lined up on the fence while I climbed over and began making my way toward the calf.

Now at this point in my little life I had never questioned, or cared to know where babies come from so I did not know that with the mother cow and baby cow there must surely be a fatherly bull sort of cow.

I learned this lesson too late.

When I was within a few feet of the calf the cousins on the fence started laughing, but my brother started screaming. I turned to my right and there was a huge, black bull stamping around angrily yards away from me.

As a nine year old I distinctly remember my life flashing before my eyes and I'm sure a quick mental will was made--to Katie I leave my barbies, to Pete and Chris my legos.. I turned around and started running as fast as I could toward the fence--I'm sure it was an impressive speed for a little girl, but to me it seemed like the slow motion scene from Chariots of Fire. The bull was right behind me. I finally made it to the fence, dove under it, scratching every inch of my body in the process, and landed in a heap on the ground. The angry bull stood at the fence stamping and pushing his head into it. All the cousins laughed and laughed, and I cried and cried. They took me inside and delivered me to my mother who promptly bandaged my wounds and did her best to clean up the scratch running all the way down my nose...


Needless to say, THAT is why I'm scared of cows.