'Til the Cows Come
The other evening, Lindsay and I were sitting on the front porch of the home where she and Whit recently moved after their wedding. It's a charming farm house that was built in the 1830's, and the front porch offers a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the not-too-far distance.
Whenever Lindsay and I discuss anything, it typically revolves around the topics of Whit's losing his cell phone, Southern literature, or any recently-discovered dessert that contains Oreo cookies as an ingredient. On this particular occasion, however, I wasn't prepared for Lindsay's interest in her newest pastime.
Across the road from the house and only several feet away are some rolling hills at the base of the mountains. Lindsay informed me that on these grassy knolls, the local neighborhood cattle do roam. And copulate. And, apparently, both of these activities intrigue Lindsay to the point that she will arrive home from work eager to engage in the front-porch voyeurism of Grade-A beef in action. Most women I know rush home from work to catch up on their tapings of that afternoon's episode of "Days of Our Lives," but Lindsay finds the plotlines more exciting when a Holstein named Bessie gets caught in the act of traipsing around another bull's onion grass patch.
Apparently, the mounting activities of cattle is a fascinating sight to watch. For Whit's sake, I'm just glad that Lindsay discovered this form of an animal's expression after she married Whit. Among men, it is quite a common hope that women do not view the arousal of horses, bulls, or donkeys or watch the movie "Boogie Nights" until after the women have had the opportunity to understand that no matter how generous God was in handing out reproductive organs to us, we men will never compare in size to the aforementioned male characters who play the roles therein.
As Lindsay proceeded to explain the act of one cow mounting another, my first question was, "You mean two cows were doin' it?" To my relief, she clarified by saying that when she said the word cows, she really meant one cow and one bull. While I believe that cattle should enjoy the same openmindedness toward their sexuality that humans should be afforded, my initial thought was that if I wanted to see two heifers getting it on, I could attend gay pride weekend and go to any tent jointly sponsored by Home Depot and Dippin' Dots.
Lindsay proceeded to describe the throes of ecstasy that the heifer evinces after she has been mounted by her horned suitor. Apparently, despite the fact that any man with bull-like proportions of reproductive equipment could easily induce in his partner the permanent need for leg braces to assist in walking afterward, the heifer is seemingly unfazed by the procreative act. She turns her head to one side, looks over her shoulder to be sure he is still there, and then proceeds to yawn several times until he has decided that he is satisfied. They then each smoke a cigarette and go back to chewing cud and filing their hooves. I'm told that this sort of behavior also is common to human couples who have been together for at least ten years.
Why our parents and middle school health teachers teach us about the birds and the bees, I'll never know. Perhaps it's because the nervous flittering of each of those species is to make us believe there is actually more excitement to sex than there really is. If those same educators would just whip out a drawing of Bessie and Floyd, perhaps we'd all realize that contentment can come from the stability being grounded and from sharing the same stomping grounds of those we love.
Whenever Lindsay and I discuss anything, it typically revolves around the topics of Whit's losing his cell phone, Southern literature, or any recently-discovered dessert that contains Oreo cookies as an ingredient. On this particular occasion, however, I wasn't prepared for Lindsay's interest in her newest pastime.
Across the road from the house and only several feet away are some rolling hills at the base of the mountains. Lindsay informed me that on these grassy knolls, the local neighborhood cattle do roam. And copulate. And, apparently, both of these activities intrigue Lindsay to the point that she will arrive home from work eager to engage in the front-porch voyeurism of Grade-A beef in action. Most women I know rush home from work to catch up on their tapings of that afternoon's episode of "Days of Our Lives," but Lindsay finds the plotlines more exciting when a Holstein named Bessie gets caught in the act of traipsing around another bull's onion grass patch.
Apparently, the mounting activities of cattle is a fascinating sight to watch. For Whit's sake, I'm just glad that Lindsay discovered this form of an animal's expression after she married Whit. Among men, it is quite a common hope that women do not view the arousal of horses, bulls, or donkeys or watch the movie "Boogie Nights" until after the women have had the opportunity to understand that no matter how generous God was in handing out reproductive organs to us, we men will never compare in size to the aforementioned male characters who play the roles therein.
As Lindsay proceeded to explain the act of one cow mounting another, my first question was, "You mean two cows were doin' it?" To my relief, she clarified by saying that when she said the word cows, she really meant one cow and one bull. While I believe that cattle should enjoy the same openmindedness toward their sexuality that humans should be afforded, my initial thought was that if I wanted to see two heifers getting it on, I could attend gay pride weekend and go to any tent jointly sponsored by Home Depot and Dippin' Dots.
Lindsay proceeded to describe the throes of ecstasy that the heifer evinces after she has been mounted by her horned suitor. Apparently, despite the fact that any man with bull-like proportions of reproductive equipment could easily induce in his partner the permanent need for leg braces to assist in walking afterward, the heifer is seemingly unfazed by the procreative act. She turns her head to one side, looks over her shoulder to be sure he is still there, and then proceeds to yawn several times until he has decided that he is satisfied. They then each smoke a cigarette and go back to chewing cud and filing their hooves. I'm told that this sort of behavior also is common to human couples who have been together for at least ten years.
Why our parents and middle school health teachers teach us about the birds and the bees, I'll never know. Perhaps it's because the nervous flittering of each of those species is to make us believe there is actually more excitement to sex than there really is. If those same educators would just whip out a drawing of Bessie and Floyd, perhaps we'd all realize that contentment can come from the stability being grounded and from sharing the same stomping grounds of those we love.
posted by Ritchie Miller at 10:46 AM
1 Comments:
I read your blog at work and was in tears from all the laughing I did in my cozy little cubicle. You should really write a book. You should aspire to being featured in Oprah's book club! Love ya.
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