Hot last weekend, wasn’t it? Perfect weather for a walk. What could be nicer than sunshine, stunning views and an angry ruminant?
*Safety warning: This newspaper column contains a percentage of cattle-related puns that the government have deemed to be above the recommended daily allowance. You should read it only as part of a balanced journalistic diet, and not laugh at the weak plays-on-words, as it only encourages the writer. He’s milking it, really.*Heartened by the weather last Sunday (and the fact that sitting on the sofa all day doesn’t actually count as exercise, even if you do get up to go to the fridge for more chocolate), we decided to go for walk.
Wandering happily through the Arnside AONB, we took in the glorious views across Morecambe Bay, spotted some orchids, and strolled happily past the entertainingly small Highland cattle that roam the side of Arnside Knott, with their pointy horns and inappropriately thick, hairy coats. Placid little chaps, but I suppose you would be too if it was well over 20C and you’d come dressed for a foot of snow.
Further on, we passed through a gate and could see some much larger, hair-free, cows on the path ahead. The first of these - let’s call it Cowy McCowface - immediately mooed loudly and started walking briskly in our direction.
I’m not cow-ardly, but this seemed somewhat unusual, so as it continued marching and mooing, we decided to take a detour off the path, and cut the corner off instead of following the usual track and joining up with another route.
Even though Cowy was now out of sight, angry mooage still emanated from the trees, and when we came out on the other path, our bonkers bovine was still on our tail.
Resisting the urge to run, we picked up our pace a bit from ‘walk quite fast’ to ‘walk fast enough that running might just happen naturally’. Maybe it was just being friendly, and wanted to give us a pat on the back. Or maybe it really was in a bad moo-d, and we were heading for a cow-tastrophe.
For the first time since the age of about ten, I began to wonder what my tree-climbing skills were like, and eyeing up likely candidates for a middle-aged, panic-based, ascent.
As we hoofed it downhill, we could tell Cowy was still hot on our tail. Not seen, but herd. We weren’t quite going hell for leather, but whilst it was concerning at this stage, it clearly had the potential to become udderly terrifying.
Fortunately, some walkers coming the other way inadvertently took Cowy’s Terminator-like focus off us, and as we exited through a gate, we could see them pondering their next move.
On the positive side, we did get our heart-rates up for a significant period, which is apparently “good for you”. I suspect achieving this via elements of terror isn’t the recommended method, though.
I’m going out for a meal tonight. I think I might have steak.
This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on Friday the 13th of May 2016. The paper retitled it as "Not 'amoosed' by curious cow".
No much more I can say about this one, really. I've walked past, and sometimes through, the cows that inhabit this particular section of Arnside Knott dozens of times before, and they've never even moved more than look up as I've strolled by.
Something had clearly upset Ms McCowface.
Coincidentally, despite rarely consuming bits of cow, I did have beef when I went out for a meal that night.
(CD A-Z: Flight Of The Conchords' rather splendid eponymous début, featuring the genius that is "Business Time".)
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