20 AugWhy Doth the Cow Sing?

My house is at the edge of town near a road that leads to two canyons in the mountains just to the east. The road is exactly one mile long and slightly up hill. It’s a great road for walking.

On either side of the road are hayfields. Between the fields and me are barbed wire fences held up by old juniper posts leaning this way and that; or is it that the old juniper posts are held up by the barbed wire–it’s hard to tell. In any case the barbed wire keeps the cows that are sometimes released into the hayfields off the road.

I walk past these cows every morning. They seem very content to be munching on hay stubble in a congregation like some sort of bovine breakfast club. These cows generally ignore me as I stride up the road, interested only in their green leafy diets. A few near the fence might look up as I near them. They will quit chewing, rotate their ears toward me, and contemplate this creature who is contemplating them. Eventually they will dismiss me as ‘not applicable’ to their breakfast, lower their heads and continue munching.

This morning there was a disturbance among the breakfast club. One of the cows—which looked just like the rest in her black hide, big eyes, and manure soiled tail—raised her head and bawled out loudly five times. There was alarm in her voice so I looked over to see what the problem was. Nothing appeared to be out of place. She stood amid other cows who grazed along so contentedly it was clear they thought they were in paradise.  Not one of them even looked up.

I wondered what motivates a cow to call out all a sudden like that while eating a delicious breakfast among friends. Was it the bovine equivalent of, “Oh my, I’ve just swallowed a bee?” Perhaps she had just gotten good news, “I’ve just been accepted to Harvard!” Maybe she was simply angry about what she had just stepped in. She’s just a cow, so probably not.

What I secretly hoped was that the cow was singing for joy. All of her friends were mindlessly doing what they do every morning, after morning, after morning, when, for some reason, she looked up. For the first time in her short life she saw the sun rising from behind the mountains and perceived the goodness of it warming her back and the beauty of it lighting her green field. In an epiphany she recognized the goodness of her life and sang out in unrestrained joy. She looked around hoping that her friends would see it, too.  They didn’t look up. They didn’t even hear her song. They had their routine to complete, after all. Isolated in her joy, the moment soon passed. Giving in to peer pressure of the mundane, she lowered her head and became one of the herd once more.

On my return journey down the road, I passed the cows again. Their heads were down. They munched along steadily. I had no idea which had raised her voice in song. I was happy to have witnessed such a joyous moment, if that is what it was. I was also sad that it was so soon forgotten. But they are just cows, after all. I wish I could tell her that I heard her song and understood the words—and that I won’t forget. I am not a cow.

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