Languid Cows

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day. Perfection incarnate. Well, OK, OK, not exactly perfect. I had to contend with strong headwinds for half my ride. Even so, it was as near perfect as any soul could have desired.

I have a favorite twenty-mile loop for my cycling sojourns. It takes me past a number of farms where cattle and horses abound. I rather enjoy them. Some, in turn, find me a curious sight. We nod to each other in appreciation.

There’s this herd of Charolais I’ve come to admire. I see them each time I pass their way. Almost always, I find them standing in the field, munching cud contentedly. Not today. This gloriously sunny and warm fall afternoon found them resting (basking, actually). A polite breed the Charolais is. Almost all sat primly with their legs tucked discreetly beneath. Except one. The one I found most endearing.
S(he) languished on her side, belly to the sun. Legs splayed indiscriminately. Ah, a hedonist!

I was transported to a memory of a study done by an aspiring graduate student who mapped the course of cow paths using orbiting satellites to trace the trails. And what exactly did this student find? Well, unlike what may have been predicted by some “animals are dumb, unfeeling brutes” theorists, cows did not wander to the barn at dusk in a straight path. Neither did they travel paths of least resistance. No. What the student/geographer/techno-wizard found was that cows traveled the “scenic route” to home. That’s right, cows took their time wandering from field to refuge, taking in all the sights along the way.

I like that about cows.

And I got a bone to pick with any and all who claim that animals don’t have an emotional life. Proofs abound that they do, indeed. There was Temple Grandin, the autistic savant who viscerally came to understand cow terror. There are the studies of rampaging elephants that were killing rhinos. Turns out each and every one was orphaned at an early age by poachers who slaughtered their mothers. There was my feral cat, Edie, so wild that no human could touch her EVER, except me (but only when she pleased). She would formulate elaborately devious plots to steal food. Her machinations impressed me no end.

We’ve come a long, long way in understanding animal behavior. Even so, our insights constitute nothing more than a slim gap in our ignorance.

I spent the remainder of my ride musing about poet penguins, shaman snakes, skeptical sea lions, philosophical spiders, political bullfrogs and locusts falling hopelessly in love.

Who is to say I am wrong in thinking this?

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