Blathr Wayne Lorentz

Each year in America, a couple of dozen people are killed by cows. I didnʼt have a reason to look up that fact until today, shortly after a cow tried to kill me.

It sounds silly, but replace “cow” with “bull” and it makes more sense.

I was at the Turtle Bayou Nature Preserve, where a herd of cattle are occasionally allowed to roam in order to stir up the soil, fertilize the ground, and make meals of the invasive plants. Bird watchers, such as myself, are welcome to wander around the preserve, and there are viewing stands and informational signs and other amenities to make a birding visit more pleasurable.

There are, however, no signs warning you that the cows might try to kill you.

I was walking along one of the birding tracks outlined on the big signs at the entrance when I heard a low rumbling behind me. I didnʼt think too much of it because I was engrossed in listening for birds. But then the low rumbling came again, and it sounded angry.

Turning around, I saw a big black bull and his harem staring at me through the brush.

Iʼve seen enough Discovery Channel to know that running from an animal is an invitation for it to chase you. And Iʼve read enough 1930ʼs cowboy books to know that cattle will stampede at the drop of a hat. So, what to do?

While trying to figure that out, Angus McAngryface put his ears back, lowered his head and let out a bellow so loud and long and low I could feel it vibrating in my lungs. Not a good sign. I started to panic.

Shaking, I took out my phone and took a quick video. If I was going to die, I wanted my wife to know which critter killed me so she could avenge me at the dinner plate. Then another blast: "Moooooooooooo!" accompanied by the pawing of a hoof at the ground, and a snot-flinging snort to drive the point home.

Time to think logically. In cowboy books, the cowboy always has a horse. What do I have to work with? A sack lunch and a pair of binoculars, neither of which are enough to fell an animal that weighs more than my car. I know I canʼt outrun him through the woods because Iʼve seen cattle paths through the trees. They know their way better than I do.

There is a single tree on its own amid the brambles to my right. It seems stout enough to withstand the impact of a bullʼs cranium. If I can keep it between me and the creature, maybe I can stay safe along enough for it to get bored and move on.

Slowly I side-step to my right. The brambles tear into my pants which start to leak blood, but Iʼm grateful for it because I usually wear shorts when Iʼm out looking for birds. Another report: "Moooooooooo!" And another angry snort.

I eventually manage to position myself in a defensive line: me, then pine, then bovine. Heʼs still staring at me. He still looks pissed at me for whatever transgression I have committed against cowkind.

Then — he starts. It begins with a trot and he heads down the track toward where I was standing, repeating his angry warning: "Mooooo! Mooooo! Mooooo!" In seconds that felt like minutes, he has passed me and is threading his way through the trees. The ladies follow in his wake, and spread out through the pine as do the tentacles of a great river in flood.

My panic starts to subside, but is rekindled every quarter minute by his continued taunts through the blackness of the stand: "Moooooo! Moooooo! Mooooo!" The volume fades, but I can still hear the anger as I once again pull out my telephone to film the remnants of my brush with trampling death.

Finally, the last few cows in his harem amble into view, and before they dive into the obscurity, one turns around and looks over her shoulder as if to say to me, “Dumbass.”

I am never going to Turtle Bayou again.

Iʼve never understood the appeal of what are called “alternative” milks. In ordinary life, I try to avoid processed food, and with the exception of fake meat, pretend milk is probably the most processed food on the planet.

I have a fasination with farms, so I like to watch the farm life demonstrations at the rodeo that are intended for children, but instructive for those of us who grew up playing on concrete and asphalt.

This demonstration was about how to milk a cow, but I was drawn to the banner nearby that compared cowʼs milk with various nut milk. Itʼs a little hard to see in the picture, so Iʼve reproduced the information here:

If you're viewing this on a mobile phone, you won't be able to see the table until you hold your phone horizontally. That's because tables look like absolute pants on phones.

	Cowʼs milk	Almond “milk”	Oat “milk”	Soy “milk“
Calories	110	60	130	110
Protein	8 grams	1 gram	4 grams	8 grams
Fat	2½ grams	2½ grams	2½ grams	4½ grams
Carbohydrates	12 grams	8 grams	24 grams	9 grams
Calcium	30%	45%	35%	45%
Phosphorous	25%	none	none	25%
Potassium	10%	1%	none	10%
Riboflavin	25%	30%	30%	30%
Vitamin B12	20%	50%	none	50%
Vitamin A	10%	10%	10%	10%
Vitamin D	25%	25%	25%	30%

What's interesting to me about the table is the highlighted numbers. The highlights indicate that those nutrients occur in the milk naturally. In cases where a nutrient is not highlighted, that means itʼs added when the food is processed. So while the nut milks have five percent more riboflavin than cowʼs milk, the cowʼs milk has it naturally. Itʼs not added at a factory.

Why does it matter? Some people think that the body absorbs nutrients better if they come from nature, not a pill. Which may explain why my doctor encouraged me to eat certain foods, rather than take a supplement, when I was found to be a bit short on a particular vitamin.

I wonʼt pretend that cowʼs milk is the perfect food, but itʼs good to have information to compare, especially if youʼre more worried about carbohydrates than calories. Or potassium instead of fat.

On the other hand, the U.S. Army thinks the cowʼs milk is almost the perfect food. When I was in R.O.T.C., we were taught that if we were ever trapped behind enemy lines, try to find a cow because with cowʼs milk and iron tablets, you can live for a very long time.

Remember how the Navajo were advised to stay two sheep apart from one another? I guess the Nevada legislature is made up of cowboys, because this sign in the capitol was in todayʼs paper.