“Hope you avoided the bulls,” said Her Goatiness when I returned from my walk.
I paused in the process of unlacing my boot and squinted up at her. “Bulls?” I said. “No, I didn’t see anything. Apart from the two black cows in the paddock below.”
“Black cows? Those were BULLS, Niamhie. Didn’t you notice their nuts?”
Now, I have only recently graduated to the ability to distinguish chickens from goats, never mind determining the sex of livestock. I mean, I’d noticed the cows were a little beefier than the rest of the herd. Good conditioning, I’d thought sagely, congratulating myself on the appropriate application of agricultural jargon.
“Your Goatiness, I’m not some cocky who instinctively checks out an animal’s bollocks,” I said a tad archly. In any case, I generally go out of my way to avoid cows. I hate them: the glazed zombie eyes, the grinding jaws, the udders swinging like wrecking balls. And the way they RUSTLE. Ugh *shiver*.
“Jesus, Niamhie,” said Her Goatiness, “those bulls are seriously dangerous.”
I laughed. I don’t know; perhaps it was a nervous response to having unwittingly stared into the grinding jaws of death.
“I’m not joking! How far away were they?”
“Um. They were beside the gate when I let myself out of the paddock. About ten feet, I suppose.”
Her Goatiness actually went white.
“Jed went over and growled at them. Showed them who’s boss.” Although when one of the bulls lowered his head and wagged it, Jed swiftly ran out of bravado.
“NIAMHIE! They’ll kill him, you know!”
I would have been more touched by her concern if, when I’d started out on my walk, instead of saying, “Have a nice walk,” she’d said, “So you’re going for your usual late-afternoon walk which never varies in its route across the fields to the creek? Watch out for the two black bulls in the lower paddock. I’d avoid it if you wish to maintain your current status as ‘Living’.”