I’m told it’s horses. Definitely horses that will signal the end of the world and the second coming of Christ. Not cows. Or bulls. Which seems like a pretty bizarre way to start a post, to be honest. But not if you’ve heard about what happened to my beloved and I last night.
Close to midnight. Popped outside for a smoke. And as you inhale, you hear the crunch crunch crunch of someone walking in the grass. Perhaps the front lawn, or maybe the grass of the park opposite your house. But it’s unmistakable and it’s footsteps. You shit yourself slightly, and plead with your eyes to focus on the source of the footsteps. Your mind immediately recalls every single scary movie and television show you have ever seen in your entire life, and you become certain that you are about to be murdered in your jarmies on the front porch.
But then your eyes focus.
On a large, dark image.
Is it.. is that… Is that a cow?!?
My beloved comes out to me. I mention the possible sighting of the cow and she takes a look. The beast in question is less than 50 metres away. She spots the dark shadow’s impressive ballsack, outlined in moonlight. It’s not a cow. It’s a bull.
A sodding great big bull, hanging out across the road from my house.
Now, we haven’t moved to some country, way out west, woop woop location. We’re in suburbia. There are houses and cars and traffic and people. And across the road from our place, a park. A park that seems to be host to phantom bovine plague.
I tried to get a picture:
Now, I’d forgive you if you took a look at that image and thought, “Bullshit!”. But I swear to god, there are cows in them thar hills.
Yes. Plural. Because by the time my beloved called the police, there were two. And tonight, there were four… on first inspection. BECAUSE THEN THERE WERE FIVE! But we went out again and now… now there is one.
What the actual fuck?
This is udderly ridiculous.
Nobody believes us, because we can’t get decent photos. They think we’ve got mad cow disease or something.
But then someone shared this with me, and I started to feel a rising panic.
Do they come in peace? Are they merely the meat and greet team, welcoming us to the neighbourhood? Or did they hear of the magnificent roast we munched on last night, and set out to seek revenge?
And again I say: What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Am I panicking prematurely? Maybe I need to embrace our visitors. Grab their surprising appearance by the horns and welcome my bovine friends. Besides, all is not lost: I know now that a bull’s penis is called a pizzle. I know that they’re very fast moving creatures, and that they have the ability to disappear as soon as a camera is produced. It’s been a learning experience. One that has surely moooooved me.
And one that has moved my beloved, apparently. I just heard her shout “Bullshit!” at the football, with more commitment and emphasis than ever.
Your turn. Have you ever had mysterious bovine visitors? Please, tell me you have. Please.