I mentioned in passing a few days ago that a randomly-observed cow was probably pregnant. In fact I may have maligned the poor dear – she may not have been pregnant yet. This admission is drawn from me by the observed persistence of breed bulls in the Gulch. They appear to be doing their job with due diligence, but the cows are many and they are few.
I have also stated that I won’t normally stop for a bull in the middle of the road. I was forced to make an exception the other day, but not out of consideration for the bull. It was the cow he was, er, counseling that had been rendered immobile and incapable of quickly moving out of the Jeep’s path.
Your intrepid reporter was unable to shake his camera out of his pocket before the cow had managed to disentangle herself, apparently feeling that three’s a crowd…
…and the bull didn’t take the interruption well. So it was a while before I could pass. Fortunately I had no pressing engagements at the moment, and LB and I enjoyed a moment of merriment at his expense while at the same time I did wonder – you’ve got the whole bloody desert to do that in, so is it really necessary to do it in the road?
Which in turn reminded me of Sir Paul’s eternal question…
“Because you’re not cattle, you stupid Liverpudlian git. They just naturally have no class or sense of decorum, and they’re owned by cattlemen who were apparently born with no sense of anybody else’s property, so why the hell wouldn’t they do it in the road? Everybody else – except possibly overpaid rock musicians – is held to at least a slightly higher standard.”
Sorry. Still coffee-ing up here.