When chased by a cow...

One of my earliest recollections is being chased by a cow. To me - as it appears in movie of my mind – it’s all head and getting closer and closer. Not just once but over and over it seemed to me. How I escaped I’m not sure. That I did is a certainty. My mother, one of my aunts, or even my grandmother plucked me from disaster each time.

How is it possible that a cow would suddenly appear in my cousin’s yard in suburban Milwaukie, Oregon? First of all the Milwaukie where I grew up and when I grew up was not at all suburban. Sub-rural maybe but not suburban. We lived on a half acre that abutted the half acre belonging to Ross and Ada. And to their west that of George and Orvilla Smith. The land had been bought from the Glover ranch. In fact all the land around us had been part of the ranch. The ranch house and the out-buildings stood for many years just east of Forty-first Street and just west of the airport as we called Wells’ landing strip. What is now Forty-third Street was during my childhood Glover Road. It started at King Road and ended at the entrance to the airport just behind the ranch house.

The Smiths had a cow. And they were not good at building fences. I suppose the cow saw Ross’ place as greener pastures and me as something to follow. Chasing me was the result, I’m sure, of my fright at seeing the monster and running from it. Something in the recesses of my mind says I had been told that cows follow things that run. But run I did as fast as my pre-school legs would carry me.

Now it doesn’t seem to be as frightening as it was then. I suppose the lesson to be learned was to stand my ground. That’s easy to say when you’re not face to face with a mad cow.