There is a story on The Boston Channel today about a young herd of cows that escaped from a Groton farm. I laughed when I read this and couldn’t help but think about my childhood experiences with similar situations.
I grew up in rural New Jersey — a place most non-NJ folks think doesn’t exist. My parent’s road wasn’t even paved until I was 8 or 9 years old. It was dirt. Across the street from us was a set of barns and out-buildings owned by an urban dweller named “Doc”. Doc would come ‘out to the country’ on the weekends (he was a dentist by week) and do a little farming. He had several Black Angus cows, a few pigs, corn fields and lots of stray cats.
Doc’s property was once part of the original farmland owned by the folks that owned my parent’s house generations before. So, not more than 100 yards separate the front of my parent’s home (which sits RIGHT on the road) from Doc’s quarters. He was a bit of an odd character… to say the least. I always wondered who in their right mind would go to him for dental work. He once left a pound of bacon cooking on the stove (in the shed that he lived in on the weekends) and went out to plow the field. The bacon caught fire, the fire spread setting off shotgun shells like it was the fourth of July and my parent’s tended to the fire fighters (keeping them hydrated with OJ and water) during the entire ordeal — I’m sure all the while freaking out that our house might catch fire too.
His son, labeled “no good” (by my parents), took advantage of Doc’s ignorance by planting a nice little stash of pot on the back of the property (which was 50+ acres big). I won’t say how I know this though….
Doc would often visit bakeries by his house and pick up day-old bread and pastries to feed the pigs. He would often leave a box of “goodies” for us too, which my parents promptly through out. He meant well.
Being as scatter-brained as he was, his cows would often get out. We’d wake up in the morning or come home in the afternoon to find them roaming around our back yard. “Mom! The cows are out again!” was the battle cry to man yourself with a broom and go outside to try and shoo the cows back across the street. Good times…
My guess is that these cows caught a glimpse of the Boston Phoenix front page this week. All I can say is… run cows, run!!!!