Angry coooos… is there an app for that?

There’s one thing to say about Shellfield cows - or ‘coos’ in local tongue - they’re big, grumpy, and occasionally confrontational (a bit like my fiancé). They have quite the reputation amongst the Glen folk, so one of our farmer friends should’ve perhaps known better than to corner Miss Prolapse and her calf the other day. On vet’s orders, Fraser was to give her a shot of antibiotic. Unfortunately, every time he tried jabbing her, he was met with head-down hostility; a fairly non-negotiable position to be in when sharing a confined space with an 800 kilo beast. So we called in our farmer friend for help. He keeps a large herd of cattle himself, so we figured he’d know how to stick a needle in her without getting violently booted into high heaven.

So there he strode, confidently into our shed, flailing his stick around to try and get her in a corner. He’s not without years and years of experience of farming cattle, but he’s clearly never dealt with one of ours before, or else I’m sure he would have advanced with a little more caution. Sure enough, a few seconds later, and much to Fraser’s amusement, our farmer friend came sprinting out 50 times faster than he’d ambled in - Miss Prolapse hot on his tail - and leapt up an 8ft high gate, which he ended up straddling. Yikes! Luckily, we were on hand to distract the angry coooo (see, I’m saying it now), or else he would probably still be there now.

I don’t want to put anyone off coming up here for a visit, but I would like to impart a little advice with regards to our cooos. If one of them charges at you, run to the nearest high place, and climb up it. You wouldn’t think it given their hefty appearances, but these beasts are very, very fast; however not great at climbing, or jumping. If a coooo was to chase you in a barren desert, you’d be, well, pretty much stuffed – not that you’d generally find one wandering across a desert – but theoretically, here in Glendaruel it’s OK as there are lots of trees.

I myself have had a few ‘close encounters’ with the beasts, as I have to run past a group of them and their calves during my morning run along the Loch road. Whilst I’m on the road and they’re on the beach, there’s still less distance than I’d like between me and them, and whenever I approach they all stop and stare (incidentally, silence and staring seems to be their preferred method of intimidation). I then press pause on my iPod and attempt to creep past them, very quiet and conciliatory. Brave I think, until I see Miss Prolapse amongst them, and so opt for the long way round – upwards onto the bank, and through a deep bog. My entire bottom half is wet and dirty, but I’m still alive. Hurrah!