We first saw Lone Cow when we were driving home.  Up on the railroad tracks we spied a black form, wandering straight down the middle of the tracks.  It was clearly a baby cow, and he was clearly going to become hamburger as soon as a train came along.  So Rebecca stopped the car and off I went, holding two meager little pieces of twine.  My plan was to approach Lone Cow, loop this twine around his neck, and then lead him safely to . . . well, I hadn't figured out where, precisely, but Rebecca and I agreed that the biggest priority was to get him off the tracks.

The problem was that Lone Cow took one look at me when I got up on the tracks, and decided that I didn't look like his Mama.  So he galloomphed off down the tracks, and I took off in pursuit.  I chased him for about a hundred yards before I determined, embarrassingly, that I was once again being out-performed by a baby bovine.  Here I was, the famous turkey-chaser, watching Lone Cow disappear into the distance.  I flailed through some brush to make my way down to the road, waved my arms and shouted, and Rebecca (bless her heart, since I was about to collapse of exhaustion) saw me and drove to pick me up.

"Drive (gasp) to the next (gasp) road (gasp),"  I gasped. 

At Lone Cow Incident Site #2, which was across the road from a bar, we gathered together some people by flagging down cars and summoning people from the tavern.  What ensued was a study in human intelligence.  Basically, we all ran around trying to herd the little beast nowhere in particular, and eventually he broke through the human net and continued on his 'Great Journey' down the tracks.

Rebecca and I, still intent on rescue, drove to a nearby friend's house.  Discovering that our friends weren't home (and therefore unable to help with the rescue), we equipped ourselves with a lasso from their barn and some tasty grain.  Knowing that the task before us was a bit too much for us to handle alone, we also made a call to the county police, and arranged to meet an officer at what will now be known as Lone Cow Incident Site #3.

When we arrived at LCI Site #3, our young cow was only a hundred meters down the tracks and headed straight for us.  Rebecca, concerned that the officer might just shoot the cow, began approaching the youngster with a bucket of grain, hoping to make friends.  Meanwhile, the officer arrived, and he and I assessed the situation.  A moment later, an off-duty investigator who had heard the call on his radio also arrived.  Rebecca's noble attempts to capture the cow with kindness were somewhat less than successful, and the cow turned around and began heading the other way.  The officer later explained that this cow, being free-range, probably had never had any human contact whatsoever.

We all re-grouped and hatched our plan.  I would drive down an old dirt road adjacent to the tracks, head off the cow, and turn him back in the direction of the officer, the investigator, and Rebecca.  I happily surrendered the lasso to the investigator, who outweighed me by about 150 pounds.  I had no desire to repeat the cow-sail I had experienced the last time I tried to lasso a cow -- especially on the rough rock of the railroad tracks.

Moments later I had reversed the cow's direction and he headed back toward his would-be captors.  Except that by the time I arrived, he had out-maneuvered all three of them and was continuing on down the tracks.  The officer asked me to drive down past him again and herd him back, so our Subaru got to show off its All-Wheel-Drive capabilities as I careened after Lone Cow, passed him up, jumped out, and herded him back.

This time, the investigator was ready with the lasso.  But in undeniable proof of bovine superiority over the human species, Lone Cow again broke past the officer and investigator and would have headed off to dubious freedom if he didn't have to face up to Rebecca.

There she was, waiting in his path, and he stopped, uncertain of what to do.  Undaunted, Rebecca whipped off her sweatshirt and, using it as a bull-fighter’s cape, waved it before her.  Lone Cow made a dash to the left, and Rebecca skipped over the stony ground, heading him off.  Lone Cow dashed to the right, and again she headed him off.  As all three of us ran toward this dancing spectacle, Lone Cow finally decided that Rebecca was impassible and took the only escape route he had – a small path up a steep incline, straight through a large patch of brambles.

I got back into our Subaru and drove back in the direction of Lone Cow's travel.  By the time I arrived, victory seemed secured.  The investigator, in a perfect throw, had looped the lasso around Lone Cow's neck, and now the two of them were in a tugging war.  As possibly the only person who had experience tackling down a cow (well, I had never actually done it before, but I had thought about it a lot . . .), I ran up, grabbed Lone Cow's legs, and tried to push him over.  In a tumble, the investigator and I then ganged up on the little guy and tried to wrestle him down.  While Rebecca and the officer laughed and took pictures, I somehow managed to end up on the very bottom of the pile.  Moments later, however, Lone Cow was secure.

I was loaded along with Lone Cow into the back of the investigator's pickup (to make sure he didn't get free and jump from the vehicle), and we all drove Very Very Fast down the road toward Lone Cow's home.  (The investigator, being an investigator, had ascertained where Lone Cow lived by this time.)  Rebecca was excited because she got to drive Very Very Fast right behind the squad car -- permission to speed!  The reason for all this haste was that the officer, who knew a thing or two about cows, was concerned that the exhausted Lone Cow would be at greater risk for pneumonia the longer he laid on his side. 

The end of the tale is a happy one.  Lone Cow was brought home, we dragged him under the gate, untied him, and he ran off into the field.  One of the free-range cows (his mother, no doubt), gave a loud 'Moooo', and Lone Cow stopped, threw his head in the air, and 'Moooed' back.  It was all very touching.

Today I can barely move after being bumped, kicked, and squashed, but Rebecca keeps reminding me that the pain is well worth it.   Lone Cow is once again at his mother's side.


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