Look, you guys need to understand. Cows and I have a history, and it isn't a pretty one either.
Back when I was a boy, living in south western Wisconsin near the Kickapoo River, we had cows. Not just cows mind you, but dairy cows.
Now everyone will tell you that dairy cows are some of the most placid, stupid beasts in the world, but they are WRONG! Those conniving bastard took my woman, they killed my family, and they took my SWOOOOOOOORD!
Sorry, I think I just channeled Conan for a minute there. Ahem, sorry.
Anyway, growing up in south western Wisconsin, particularly near the Kickapoo River, we had some of the most content cows you will ever find. That is until my family decided it would be a good idea to double the herd. With doubling the herd we needed to get more pasture, and it had to be adjacent to our land, otherwise it would be pointless. Luck would have it that our neighbor had some decent bottomland adjacent to our land, so we took it off his hands for a fair price and put up some fence, all the way down to the Kickapoo River.
If any of you have been to south western Wisconsin, particulary near the Kickapoo River, you know that there are a lot of sandstone bluffs and loose sand slopes as you approach the river, and the land we bought is no exception. So putting up the fence was simultaneously easy (the digging) and perilous (the bluffs and loose soil near the bluffs).
While we were out installing the fence I was watching the cows to make sure that none of them wandered away or fell off a cliff. Let me tell you, that was an easy job. The cows are not as stupid as you might think, and they had figured out that falling to their deaths was bad, so the cliffs were not a problem. On the other hand, they like to eat grass, and there was a lot of grass around us. Problem was, not all of it was on our land. So I was mostly running around every half hour or so and herding the cows back to the land we owned.
Well, one cow in particular was dead set on eating the neighbor's grass, not ours. She wouldnt move if you paid her. So there I am, standing on a sandstone bluff in south western Wisconsin, within a stones throw of the Kickapoo River, trying to talk a cow in to eating grass way over there instead of the perfectly good grass right here.
Reasoning with a cow, even the intelligent ones that have figured out gravity and not dieing being good, is never a winning strategy. All they do is chew their cud and look at you. This can be a pleasant way to spend the afternoon if you aren't at all emotionally invested in the outcome, and aren't too bright yourself. Unfortunately for me, I am not a complete moron and I took the outcome seriously.
At this time the rest of the cows are taking it pretty easy, eating the correct grass, not falling to their deaths, etc. So I don't have too many worries about them. But this one cow is starting to give me the eye, all the time chewing her cud and not going where I want.
It has been maybe a half an hour and I am starting to get a bit frustrated, so I start immagining the meals I could make out of such a fine cow as this. Ribs, steaks, burgers, sausage, you name it. And I told her all about it while I tried to move her.
Like I said before, cows aren't as dumb as you might think, they just take a bit longer to pay attention. And when they start paying attention you had better watch out! This cow inparticular was bright, I could tell by the look in her eyes that she had an idea of what I was talking about, and she did not like it one bit
So in the span of time that it takes me to finish telling you this story, that cow got me good. I was pushing on her butt to get her to move, and she cuts loose with a cow pie the size of a Buick and walks away. I fall face first into said Buick/steaming dung heap, and the cow then decides to wander over to the rest of the heard.
Now here comes the part where I let you in on why I hate the cows to this day...As she was walking away, she turned her head to look back at me, chewed her cud exactly three times, and winked at me.
So there I sit, in my neighbor's pasture, on top of a sandstone bluff, within a stones throw of the Kickapoo River, eating a cowpie, and taking sass from the cow that made it for me.
And that is why the cows and I have never spoken to each other since.
I swear to you that this entire story never actually happened.
That and they are not drop bears.