Dumb Animals

The bruise is enormous. Arnica lotion won't help much, either. The calf, now at eight months old, growing new horns and with all the enthusiasm that a young male has at his age, slammed into me at full force, asking me to play in the crisp fall air.

He doesn't know any better. All he knows is that his favorite person in the whole wide world just climbed through the fence and is there proving yummy apple biscuits for him and his corral mate. What better way to say I love you that to head butt your bestie human buddy?

I yelled, he ran, but then I leapt around like I was happy (I wasn't). He responded by kicking his back feet in the air. He ran back over and I rubbed his chin and cheeks as always. He and his brother in crime commenced chewing on my clothing as they love to do, covering me with contented cow spit, and periodically head butting each other in their adolescent enthusiasm. Oh to be eight months old and growing boys.

When they head back over at me at speed again I leap the fence. I've learned. However, sometimes the bigger one catches me off guard from behind and head butts me in the butt as I climb through the fence. He's a brat. But I adore them both, the love is returned. They follow me like puppies, and each adores certain scratch points. The big one is fond of using his loofah pad tongue to wash my face. Who needs fancy spas when a young bull will do it for free?

Those of us who are willing to get into a corral with large animals are aware that bruises are part of the bargain. Then there are fools who punish the animal for being animals.

A few years back I was riding a very sweet horse named Calypso. As I am not one to strike my horses, and Calypso was a most well mannered horse, we got along swimmingly. I remember one warm July day that I was readying her for my riding lesson.

Each day, I would bring her handfuls of the emerald grass that grew in the ditch close to the hitching post. On that particular day, I was dealing with a painful back injury. Nobody's fault, just sore, and a little irritable.

As I was picking the goop out of Calypso's hooves, she was pulling her feet out of my hands, causing my back to spasm. This didn't help matters much, especially when I moved to her powerful rear haunches. Calypso hadn't been given her lovely ditch grass. Not only was she aware of my ill temper but she was being deprived of her treat. She wasn't happy with me.

After one leg jerk too many that caused a particularly painful pull in my lower back I smacked her butt. Not hard, but enough to make a point. As I leaned back down to pick her left rear hoof in my hands to pick out the dirt, she gave me her foot willingly all right. "Finally," I thought.

The next thing I felt was a mass of warm, wet horse shit cascading over my bare left shoulder. Great green masses of it, sliding all the way down to my wrist. My expensive diving watch disappeared.

I couldn't help myself. I started laughing so hard I nearly fell over, sore back and all.

I looked to my right. She was staring right back.

"Whaddya think of THEM apples, Cowgirl?"

There was no nearby water source. I had to take my riding lesson with my newly decorated shoulder for all to see. And smell.

Served me right, too. I had no business imposing my mood on Calypso, any more than we have the right to cascade a negative state of mind on an innocent child, coworker, employee or bystander.

There are folks- even some farm folks- who might have punished the cow or the horse. The animals are just doing what they do. They aren't "dumb." They're most eloquent.

My mother once punched my horse Rebel hard in the nose for stepping on her foot, as though he had singled her out that day to cause her pain. He was permanently head shy after that. Truthfully, he was simply shifting his weight and my mother was in his way.

I loved my mom, but in this case, who is the "dumb" animal?

I don't know what I don't know. What most animals have taught me- without being Mr. Ed (the talking horse of 1960s TV comedy fame) is that if I pay attention without anthropomorphizing, which insults the animal in the first place, I might learn something. A lot, in fact.

But I'd hate to find out what they're thinking about me.