Sunday, June 24, 2012

Cows, Condors and Candyman

I was chased by a cow this morning.

No - this isn't an hilarious Les Dawson-style joke. Rather I'd decided to add on a nice chunk to my morning run route that goes down a pretty rural county road (it was the corner of Peterboro Street and Ct Rd 13 in Vernon, NY for any would be kidnappers hoping for a bizarrely helpful heads-up) that happened to go past a good few farms and a creamery. When I burst round a corner - like a well-toned whippet fired from a cannon - I noticed something large stood on the side of the road. I knew it wasn't a bear or a moose or anything like that. And although my whippet-sense (which is like Spidey-sense - but to achieve continuity with the above cannon-fired canine athletic sex-dog, and avoid copyright infringement with Mattel...) told me it was likely a deer, it was clearly the wrong shape. It didn't have long, lanky legs like a deer and seemed bulkier. As I ran closer I recognized the weird, pokey shoulders of a cow - those weird boney parts that make it look like a pole-tent that's fallen in on itself. Glancing around into the nearest field I realized that amidst the head-high crop were other cows. Being me I instantly wondered if I'd ever seen cows hiding in a field with crops that high and determined I hadn't. Instead of surmising that was probably because you can't see them if they are hiding in the crop, I came to the quick conclusion that this meant that if I wanted to trap and violate a foreigner running down a road at 4.15 in the morning then a great way to do it would be to dress up as a cow and hide in a rural field on the off-chance that would happen.

Obviously at that point I figured my eyes were wrong and the cow was in the field. Even when it clearly wobbled up onto the road in front of me I still bravely stuck to my stride and path. Then it bellowed a moo at me. I say at me - I have no idea. And it probably wasn't, "moo" per se because don't relly make that sound. Frankly I was just happy it hadn't bellowed, "QUICK!! RAPE IT!!!" Like a whippet slinking around weaving poles (you love this whippet thing really) I dodged it. I glanced over my shoulder thinking it would just be looking sorrowfully at a missed opportunity/weirdo-running-in-the-dawn-light. But it wasn't doing that. Instead it was following me with enough pace that if I was walking it would likely have been a slightly faster speed than me. It followed me for about thirty feet before giving up pathetically. I got away quite easily in the end. Which means that I can now assert - with evidence- that I am faster than a cow and/or rapist dressed as a cow.

Other than that my morning was marked by dog seizures, fecal lumps and a urine-soaked bed. While that might sound like a News Of The World exposed Formula One party, it was just another mundane early morning in our household.It's all prompted - I think - by my dog's utter refusal to see sense. He spent a large part of yesterday trying to eat all the walnuts that were falling off the trees. It's an infuriating cycle of annoyance because he hears them falling, eats them, gets sick, throws up, eats that up, then gets the shits, scoots around trying to wipe his burning anus in the grass, then is distracted by another falling walnut. This happens over and over again and he simply is too stupid to learn from it. Weirdly much of yesterday afternoon he didn't do any of the throwing up thing. But at 2.45am this morning he wanted to go out. Which was when I got up. But being quite mouthy now he started barking at the neighbors house (how dare it be there) so I called him back in about two minutes later and he went back to bed.

Then at 4am I have my headphones in my ears am literally just getting ready to go out for my morning cow-chase when I heard a huge crash from upstairs. I gave it a second assuming I would then hear one of my kids crying after falling down on their way to The Big Big Bed to tuck in with their mother. But I didn't hear that. Instead I heard another crash, but not quite as loud. Obviously I assumed we were under attack from flying, rape-condors and they'd broken directly through the walls in an attempt to satisfy their lust for English victims. I could have just left - but there was a possibility that something terrible had happened so I started up the stairs. At which point my wife told me the dog was having a seizure and had fallen out of bed. She had told him to go downstairs when he started convulsing and gargling but he couldn't stand up. By the time I got upstairs he was frantically licking his lips and still seeming quite out of sorts. I told my wife that I thought it might be walnuts - but that they'd never done that to him before. I was about to pick him up to take him downstairs when I noticed an unusual walnut-sized brown lump on the landing floor beneath my wife. Amusingly it looked an awful lot like a walnut. I asked her what it was and she backed away from it like it might attack her. Frankly I was let down by this. My wife is the sort of person who has memorized the Bristol Stool Scale (which annoyingly classifies a lot of the turds described within as varieties of sausage entities) so surely she knew it wasn't some mislaid human-fudge - possibly dropped by a burglar dressed in a condor suit. Fearing the worst I got some tissue and picked it up - gave it an investigative sniff and positively identified it as a broken off dog-poo end. Sheer madness. The dog defied us both and ran off down the stairs - somehow not falling down as he went.

I spent a few minutes outside with him and he seemed perfectly fine - other than desperately needing a poo. Had my wife mistaken a desperate clenching as a seizure? Seemed unlikely. When the dog noticed a squirrel and started to give chase I figured he was fine and went back in the house to quiz my wife on her ability to identify a shit-seizure. She had cleaned the floor and we were both surprised to see my daughter - who had already jumped in our bed - jumping out to go to the bathroom. Which was when I noticed that she'd wet herself - and ergo our bed. "It's all going wrong..." I chuckled to my wife, before we whipped the covers off and got them in the washing machine straight away. The wife and daughter went back to bed in her bed - I let the dog upstairs to lie down with them - and I buggered off out to avoid the Bovine Bum-Bandit ("Where's The Beef?".- you really don't want to know...).

I should have known the morning would be odd based on the prior night. Whilst telling my daughter her bedtime story she kept interrupting me with insane plotlines that made no sense at all. For example - she had me telling her a story about how I was a tiny mouse trying to solve the mystery of some missing cheese-milk I think she got that from a hopefully successful attempt I'm making at making my own creme-fraiche (not physically, thank God). Also helping me in the story was fervent alleged journo-pervert Geronimo Stilton - who had somehow discovered via Kevin The Caterpillar (probably used torture to get the info) that a skunk was hiding the cheese-milk in a tree stump hidden in our back yard. Which isn't that weird (which is revealing in itself), except that when I asked how the skunk was going to stop us from getting the cheese-milk back I expected her to say it would spray us. Instead she yelled, "with laser beams!!" My wife came in to lie down with my daughter for a bit then and I didn't get to correct her. That probably started the whole big dung-beetle-turd/seizure/cow-rapists/piss-ball rolling.

Right now though my kids are in the kitchen eating breakfast. My daughter is eating Cheerios On a Bunny (that's Cheerios and honey). My son is supposed to be eating oatmeal - which annoyingly this morning is the, "strawberries and  scream" flavor. Except before he started eating he started doing a demented side-to-side wobbling thing - prompting his sister to warn him that, "No! Stop! Too much wobblin' turns you into a goblin." He apparently took that as a direct challenge, in the same way that incredibly brave teenagers stand in front of a mirror and say "Candyman" five times confident that a bee-covered hook-handed murdered doesn't suddenly appear. So right now he's gyrating back and forth like a cocaine-riddled Tasmanian devil. 

Today should be good then.


  1. You're really quite worried about being sexually assaulted by some form of animal aren't you?