When cows attack!

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I was returning from a walk in the woods yesterday when I encountered a traffic bottleneck on the drive home.

A young man wearing a hoody, thick trousers and wellies guided the cows across the road with the aid of an obligatory stick. The cows’ udders were extended so they were keen to reach the milking machine. They knew the route so most of them trooped along, but one brown cow of a curious disposition stopped in the middle of the road to favour me with a searching gaze, while another determined to snack opportunistically on a thick clump of grass just before the gate posts. Both of them were encouraged by their herder to hurry to their destination.

Animals are always interesting to observe, because of their distinct personalities. People tend to think of cattle as an amorphous group, synced up in a herd mentality all the time, but they have their eccentricities and rebellions. I’m not a farmer, but I’ve encountered enough cows over my lifetime to keep two things to the forefront of my mind: the average cow weights between 1,200 and 1,400 kg, which is the equivalent to a compact car like a Ford Fiesta, and they can be unpredictable.

Every year there are three to four deaths of farm workers in Ireland by livestock. Many people don’t realise that farming is one of the most dangerous professions in the country. Over the past decade, farm fatalities have ranged from a low of 9 to a high of 30, with an average of roughly 15 to 20 deaths per annum. It a tough vocation, and I’ve a lot of respect for the people who continue this tradition.

I had my own close encounter with a cow many years ago…

Our dearly-departed dog, Minnie, was a Labrador-mix we chose from a dog shelter. We knew little about her history when we picked her up but we instantly learned that she was prone to car sickness — she threw up on Martin three times on the journey from the shelter to our home. She bonded with us well but exhibited severe separation anxiety. For new dog owners this caused a lot of stress. Leaving her alone for short periods was a cause of concern, and more worrying was the prospect that she would barf every time she travelled in the car (she did).

Clearly she associated the car with terrible things. Considering she harboured a lifelong suspicion of certain men, and vans, we had some theories…

Thankfully, this is a positive case for the usefulness of the Internet. Through extensive searches I discovered a simple system of de-sensitisation so Minnie would view the car as a vehicle for adventure and fun. It required daily practice and patience, but within six months she was content in the car and after a year she would bound into it excitedly, expecting a long ramble.

We concentrated on training her to walk easily on a leash, and to pay attention to us rather than the smorgasbord of smells that seize a dog’s dominant sense. We figured our dedication to training in her first year would pay off in the long run, and we were absolutely correct. It cemented my suspicion that most dogs can be trained out of many unhelpful behaviours with consistency, kindness and patience. Principles that can be applied to most endeavours!

She was an outstanding guard dog when it came to alerting us to anyone approaching our property (she was incensed that the postal workers kept ignoring her warnings), but she was not a brave dog. You could not expect her to protect you in scary circumstances, and sadly she was the type of sensitive soul that more aggressive dogs would instantly choose to bully. She hated thunder storms and during tempests had to retreat to her safe space in her cosy crate.

Her favourite things to do (other than eat and sleep) was to chase flung balls or sticks, and this went double for items thrown into rivers, ponds or the sea. As much as she loved our woodland rambles, the beach was her idea of heaven. Although, she wasn’t too fond of deeper water.

In that first year Martin and I walked Minnie at least twice and day and concentrated on our local road. Most non-Irish people are astonished by the size of country roads here which may not accommodate two cars passing at the same time. The routes we walked were of a variety of sizes and unfortunately the locals tended to zip down them with blithe disregard for surprise encounters.

Once Minnie was happy being a passenger in our car, we quit walking her along the winding tree-lined routes interspersed by various houses, some of which contained dogs of friendly and suspicious dispositions.

There was also the incident with the cow…

You always have to be careful with dogs and livestock. Lots of dogs have instincts to herd and chase, and if the pooch is off-leash and they spot a creature, they may simply act upon their engrained nature. Minnie had a fierce desire to catch squirrels for instance. Not that they were in any danger from her. They would dash up the tree and mock her as they leaped about from bough to bough, while she ineffectually threatened them from her earth-bond location. I suspect she was envious of their freedom.

Yet, my wise and fearful Minnie would not tangle with cattle. She might regard them from an adjoining field with curiosity, but I got the sense she viewed them as huge beasts she did not want to antagonise.

One autumn day I was walking her down our local road at a section with wide verges that were covered in piles of red and yellow leaves. I had left my mobile phone at home as it was charging, and Martin was working in the front garden with his mother.

I was about 2 km from the house when I rounded a corner and discovered a husband and wife team, who were farmers I didn’t recognise. A Range Rover with a trailer was parked on the verge, and the couple were lazily guiding two cows and a heifer1 to the open trailer.

This was not a good situation. I ensured that I was on the outside with Minnie on a close leash. She was nervous by the close proximity to such big animals and she stuck close to my legs.

I hailed the farmers in a friendly manner and said I’d stay put while they accomplished their task. They responded in an affable fashion and continued waving the cattle towards the ramp.

Suddenly, one of the cows rushed me. It shoulder slammed me and I was thrown into a pile of leaves. Minnie immediately ran for her life and jerked the leash from my hand.

The cow, satisfied she had rid her child of potential danger, returned to where the couple were desperately trying to re-establish control.

The farmers did not help me or check on my situation. The man muttered someone about the cow ‘Having a terrible temper’ as I was slowly picking myself up and checking for injury. Anger quickly gazumped shock, and I began to protest at their lack of attention.

The couple called out ‘Awful sorry’, slammed up the door on the trailer and departed as quickly as possible. No doubt terrified I would collar them for damages.

There was no sign of Minnie.

I wasn’t seriously hurt, thanks to landing on soft earth and leaves. Carefully, I began my limping way home, calling for Minnie every now and again.

My dog may not be brave, but she channelled Lassie in her best ‘I must get help’ mode (or perhaps it was simply ‘I need to get to safety’). Apparently she shot home with the leash trailing, which is how Martin discovered her.

This was a scary moment for him. He rang my phone and heard it ringing in the house. He jumped into the car, and drove down the route concerned about what had happened to me.

He found me about 1 km from the house, bedraggled, sore and worried about the welfare of my dog.

The event left me with an appreciation for the sheer size and power of cattle.

Minnie was ecstatic when I arrived home, but she was always happy to be reunited with her people. She was most happy when we were all together.

Minnie had a soft heart and fast legs. Her action was probably the best response in the situation, but while I was on my way home, brushing leaves and dirt off my coat, I cannot deny I felt let down and abandoned.

She repaid me many times over in the subsequent years with her presence, her love of play, and her devotion.

It broke my heart the day she passed away.

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