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For you Americans, when we say "Number 10" here we mean Number 10, Downing Street, which is where the prime minister lives. (Unless he lives at Number 11.)
(And yes, I know that if you have to explain a joke it's no longer funny. Fortunately this one wasn't that funny to begin with, so no harm done.)
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Cow lick: Unlike horses, cows just want to love you. With their tongues.
The other day I went on a hike in the Chilterns, near Saunderton and Lacey Green. Toward the end of the walk we saw a sweet cow, standing on the path in front of the gate. He sauntered off as we approached, and then we saw there were several young male cows (technically, they were steers, but who's looking?) in the pasture, on the other side of what would have been a fence if it had been complete.
(No, I did not have the dog with me, for precisely this reason: so many animals are not properly fenced, and Sparky doesn't share my love for livestock.)
I asked this young cow and his buddies to pose for a few photos, and they obliged (as cows invariably do, unlike sheep).
Such friendly guys, just living the bachelor life on the green pasture. And then one of them, who must have been out sowing wild oats in the next field, snuck up behind us and started licking my friend's sweater, leaving a trace of slobber. She seemed a bit upset by this but I wouldn't have minded. Cow slobber, as I found out, is nothing like dog slobber.
Sneaky Cow looks back, hurt that we didn't appreciate his impromptu affection.
One of the cows I was photographing seemed to want to smell me, so I put my hand out, and then he wanted to know what I tasted like, so he licked me. And then another wanted to lick me. (If you give a mouse a cookie...or a cow a sniff...)
Cows have rough tongues, sort of like large, thick cat tongues. None of them showed any teeth, unlike the horses I tried to befriend at the Home of Rest for Horses. (It's no wonder I much prefer cows to horses!)
These guys looked to be less than a year old, not quite full grown, but old enough to be separated from their mums. I haven't seen any spring younguns in the pasture yet; maybe with the late spring their debut has been held up.
I'll have more photos next week, of some sheep we came across in the same place. They were not quite as friendly as the cows, but then few animals are, I've found.
Cows just want to love you. All over. With their fat tongues.
The guys were sad to see us leave.
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A warm summer day in the Cotswolds and a cow.
I think I've mentioned before that I'm having trouble getting out to see cows these days, since my dog isn't very cow friendly. But it occurred to me that I've got thousands of unused cow photos, right here on my computer, that will never be seen unless I expose their pixels to the world via Friday Cow Blogging, Nostalgia Edition.
We all like nostalgia, don't we? Otherwise why is the whole world watching Downton Abbey? It's certainly not for the longlived characters.
I found a batch of cow photos I took during a walk in the Cotswolds, with our previous cow-friendly dog. We walked right through this herd of cows, and she didn't give them a second look. She was good like that.
They lived (I'm pretty sure they don't live anymore, since cows rival Downton Abbey characters for longevity) in a pretty pasture near Minster Lovell, the prettiest spot in the Cotswolds.
We were following a walk that took us around Minster Lovell and the charming River Windrush, and which ended in cow drama. I wrote about that back then, when the moment was fresh. In all my years rambling around cows, it's the only time I've ever been in a situation that could have earned me the bleeding lead on Radio 4's Six O'Clock News: "Ramblers killed by cows," Eddie Mair would have intoned at the top of the hour.
Uh oh, I think I've just given Julian Fellowes a plot idea...
Anyway, read about that adventure here, which we survived intact.
Content cows, sans drama
Looking at the photos of these lovely cows brings back more pleasant memories of that day. It was a particularly hot day in a particularly hot summer. We haven't seen the likes of it since. We're currently shivering in a record cold "Spring".
And let's not talk about last summer.
I'd give anything to ramble out amongst those cows, on a warm summer day. Yeah, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic...but not for the drama.
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A Highland cow with some scary horns.
The white cliffs of Dover Pegwell, near Ramsgate, rise in the distance.
Lovely ginger-haired Highland cow
When I saw these photos of Highland cows on Twitter I got really excited. Of course I happened to be sitting in a theatre, during the interval of a play, since that's when you check your Twitter feed for any random cows.
These photos were taken by my young friend April, who lives in Kent with three dogs. I follow her on Twitter because she's working with a reactive dog like Sparky, and despite her age (she's still in her teens), she's done an awesome job with all three. She's even competed at Crufts in Obedience and won! Twice! She's an inspiration to me. I know if she can manage three, surely I can manage one. Right?
Well, I still haven't managed to teach Sparky not to bark at cows. And that, my friends, is the number one reason why the cow blogging hasn't been occuring more regularly. So, to circle back to those photos in the theatre, when I saw these gorgeous creatures I begged April to let me use them for Friday Cow Blogging.
These were taken at a country park in Kent, near Ramsgate. Yes, that's the white cliffs of Dover Ramsgate in the background. As April tweeted, her dogs were curious, but not too afraid, despite the large horns!
Here's her Kez, getting a sniff of the strange creature.
April has a blog, where she writes about training her dogs. Here's her latest post, about managing a reactive dog.
This park looks like a lovely place to walk dogs. And a perfect spot for viewing cows. Certainly better than the cramped seats at the theatre...although the play was nice.
One of these days, I hope to be able to take Sparky a little further afield where we might actually encounter wild life. Meanwhile, thanks to April for sharing her lovely cow photos!
Not sure I'd want to get that close to those horns...
Update:
April tweets to say these aren't the cliffs of Dover, but instead Pegwell near Ramsgate. I always thought the all white cliffs were in Dover, but Ramsgate is nearby.
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During the construction of the Channel Tunnel, the area was known as Shakespeare Cliff Lower Construction Platform. In 1994 a competition was organised by Eurotunnel and the Dover Express to find a new name for the newest part of England which was reclaimed from the sea. Hundreds of entries were received, from which the judges chose Samphire Hoe.
Gillian Janaway came up with the name. Having been an English teacher, she was familiar with Shakespeare’s King Lear.
"There is a cliff whose high and bending head looks fearfully in the confined deep… The crows and choughs that wing the midway air scarce so gross as beetles; halfway down hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!".
At the time that William Shakespeare was writing King Lear he was said to have travelled regularly through Dover. It was his familiarity with the cliffs that may well have inspired his descriptions. To this day the first cliff on the West side of Dover is known as Shakespeare cliff.
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It's that time of year, when eveyone (everyone in the United States, that is) rushes to select their turkey, wanting to get their shopping settled by the time the big day comes.
Even though we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here (unless we're invited to a friend's house) we still turn our thoughts toward turkeys sometime around the middle of November.
In past years I've gone with Kathy, Cicada, Daphne, and Satan—oh wait, that was our meal. I've also made turkey biscuits, for the dog of course.
Payton, my Thanksgiving adopted turkey
This year, I'm choosing Payton. Just look at him—he's got that certain look in his eye, right? That "I know what you did last night and I'm not telling" look.
I think I'll call him General Payton.
If you'd like to adopt a turkey, instead of eat one, you can do that through Farm Sanctuary, where your adopted turkey will continue to live, happily dining on whatever they grub up in the dirt. If, like me, you choose not to eat turkey on Thanksgiving (or any day) there are many, many turkey-free recipes on the Web. I have one here, but roam the internet, you'll find something to your taste. This one here might appear on my table this Christmas, if not Thanksgiving.
Just look at that face again—see why, when it comes to vegetarian Thanksgiving, I'm all in.
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"Hello, can I help you with your online cow-related issues?"
Yes, it's come to this. Due to a lack of sufficiently hardworking cows, willing to work year-round for the low pay few mealy apples I offer here at WDIK Friday Cow Division, I've had to go offshore to find cows to feature on this site.
But don't worry; I would never outsource this blog to sub-standard, mooing-as-a-second-language bovines. No, indeed. I've managed to find cows from America's leading dairy state, Wisconsin.
"Hey, you speak the same language!"
And not just any Wisconsin cows, mind you: only the best, most beautiful bovines are included here. These cows are all part of an organic herd, raised on natural grasses and kept healthy without the use of antibiotics and hormones.
No synthetic fertilizers in that pasture, either.
These photos were taken by Dr Guy Jodarski, staff veterinarian for Organic Valley, who sent the photos to my daughter who then emailed them to me, knowing how much I appreciate good cow photos.
The green, green grass of...home?
I must say, I've never seen finer looking cows. And that lucious grass they're munching on...if this gets out, some of the local cows are going to wish they were outsourced.
Peek below for more of Wisconsin's finest organic cows.
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A ewe crops the grass at Avebury on the Autumnal Equinox, oblivious to the celestial significance.
I had houseguests this past week, and so of course I drove them to Avebury and Stonehenge. This time we stopped in Hungerford, where we browsed in some of the antique shops, looking for old stuff, before heading out the A4 to see the really old stuff.
When we neared the carpark at Avebury, we saw a sign that said the carpark was full. I didn't expect this; I've never been unable to find a parking space in the large National Trust carpark there. As we drove around, hoping to find an unoccupied corner to park in, an older gentleman stopped us, a National Trust volunteer. I asked him what was going on.
"It's the Autumnal Equinox," he told us. "All the pagans, druids, and goths are here."
Crap. I just wanted to show my houseguests the rocks, not goth out with the druid drumbeat.
We spent some time idling while the man told us about off-road parking a ways off, "a quarter hour walk," he promised. I knew better. Brits are famous for underhandedly underestimating distances. I've gone off on wild goose chases before, searching for Robin Hood's sycamore tree on Hadrian's Wall for an hour after being told it was just over the hill. They call 20 mile hikes "walks" or even more deceptively, "rambles". So I didn't want to subject my guests to a long walk when we still had to make it to Stonehenge before sundown.
Fortunately the druids, who I'd dissed, were a forgiving lot and one of them pulled out just as I was about to give up on the Autumnal Equinox experience at Avebury. I slid my car into the space and we set out to tour the National Trust manor house (a real treat since its refurbishment) and take a peek at the stone circle.
As always, a flock of sheep were grooming the grass, keeping it trim while offering up copious amounts of fertilizer. I've become adept at dodging sheep droppings, but my guests were a little fazed. Thank goodness we didn't have to suffer that "quarter hour walk"; I'm sure our soles wouldn't have survived, despite pagan interference.
When I was at Avebury earlier in the summer the lambs were still hovering around their mums. But there seemed to be only lone ewes now, like this one munching on autumnal grass. The lambs are probably at Waitrose by now, sadly.
Next time I go to see ancient stone circles I'll check the calender first. Equinoxes and solstices are no time for non-pagans to venture out to sacred sites, I've decided.
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A happy-ending story about a mama cow and the baby who got left behind.
A friend posted this video on Facebook, and at first I refused to watch it. I never watch upsetting videos about animals, knowing how I'll react. But then she reassured me, twice, that the story had a happy ending.
Since I'm all about happy endings, I clicked. And I'm glad I did.
This reminds me of another happy ending I saw once.
This cow, Karma, and her babies were rescued by The Gentle Barn. You can sign up to sponsor one of their rescued animals—I just did.
Anyone who doubts that cows don't have emotional attachments to their babies needs to come visit my cows. Heck, I'm not even their mum and I get emotionally attached. Did I ever tell you about Socks?
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Cotswolds cow
I started writing about this cow, and where I found her, but then realized that the Cotswolds deserve their own post. It's an area I'm pretty familiar with, and a very pretty area at that.
So more on the Cotswolds later. For now, just enjoy the cows, which we found grazing alongside a single track road near Bibury, one of the loveliest stretches of paved road anywhere in the world.
I am not exaggerating.
But these cows also deserve their own post, and many superlatives: pretty, lovely, curious (okay, not exactly superlative, but a vital factor in my love for them). And of course they are just downright picturesque.
Here's more:
This little guy stood out from the rest, both literally and figuratively.
This bull looks a lot like the bull that's sometimes in my pasture. I wonder if they're brothers?
I just loved the markings on this little guy.
Finally, at the inn where we stopped for tea in Bibury, we were greeted with more cows: This painting by Katharine Lightfoot features two lovely bovines. I want it so bad.
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Rear view of cows
Caught this photo the other morning when the sun was beaming on the pasture. Days are getting shorter now; most mornings it's dark when I get up. I hate to think of fall, with its short, cool, days, creeping around the corner.
I love leaving the back door open during the day, even now, when it's a bit too chilly for fresh air. Permanent summer would be fine with me, as long as it involves sunny mornings.
And the worst thing about fall is, of course, the day the cows leave. For good.
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This lovely ewe and her lambs were at Avebury about four weeks ago when I last did the Stonehenge/Avebury Official Tour, which offers as added attractions thatched roofs, funny British men flirting, and animals of all stripes and colours.
And this summer, fashionable sheep at Avebury are all wearing blue.
Avebury is just that much more special than Stonehenge, because not only can you see the funny misshapen stones up close and personal but you get to view dodgy sheep. Dodgy as in you must dodge their poo.
The flirty men were quite special, too, but this is Friday Sheep Blogging, not Friday Bloke Blogging.
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Someone posted this on my Facebook page the other day, knowing I'd enjoy seeing a calf playing ball like a puppy.
Yes, cows are curious and love to play, just like dogs!
In the spring, I love to see the young calves race around the pasture, playing Tag and Hide Behind Mommy. They remind me of dogs—they're that nimble when they don't weigh two tons. Then they gain weight and lumber around a little more slowly, as you do.
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This cow greeted us at Stonehenge as we left the barrows.
I was glad to read that finally work is beginning at Stonehenge. For 30 years plans to enhance the visitor experience at Stonehenge have been discussed, tossed about, and alternately rejected and/or approved. Currently the area surrounding the stones is a hodgepodge of carparks, temporary restroom facilities, a sandwich kiosk and crowded gift shop. The archeologically significant barrows, as well as the curcus, are impossible to appreciate fully, cut off from the stone circle as they are.
The new plans are to build an interpretive center and museum. Many of the artifacts found at Stonehenge are currently in nearby museums. Apart from an audio guide, there is no way to learn more about how Stonehenge may have been built, or why it was built, or even the fact that it took many centuries to complete the various monuments. This particularly affects visual learners, who may find the audio guide lacking.
This cow may have to be relocated, unfortunately. She and her peers are directly in the path of the new lane that will take visitors from a new carpark to the stones, via shuttle bus. The A344 road that runs right next to Stonehenge will be removed altogether, with a new entrance built off the A303. This will allow visitors to fully appreciate the layout of the land that attracted ancient humans to the area in the first place.
Work will be completed in 2014, but in the meantime, visitors will continue to have access to the stones. And to the cows, of course.
Because a visit to an ancient monument just isn't the same without livestock.
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What's that I spy upon yon Bronze Age burial mound?
Arise, and make your presence known!
Oblivious to the notion of Bronze Age, these calves are more interested in viewing potential enemies—namely, us—from atop the mound.
Yesterday we went to Stonehenge, and while our American guests wandered around the stones, my daughter and I visited the burial mounds nearby. While normally I dig Bronze Age burial mounds as much as the next person, I confess I was more interested in the bovines pastured there than in the mounds themselves.
They're actually barrows, excavated in the 18th and 19th centuries. Tenant farmers use the land for pasture now, with cows and sheep clipping the grass instead of lawn mowers. Fertilizing it, too, which makes walking somewhat hazardous.
I didn't get too close to the calves, who were obviously not keen on making my acquaintance. They stood as I approached, ready to bolt. I don't blame them. Their kind were once roasted in celebration at this very site, according to archeological remains found at the site.
The latest theories on Stonehenge suggest that the monuments were erected as a sort of celebration of the unification of East and West Britain.
Which might explain the presence of the A303 nearby, a major dual carriageway which connects the western edge of this island with the east.
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Cow at Langley Park, Iver
We've gotten into a rut. When we want to take the dog for a weekend walk, we typically go to Black Park, near Pinewood Studios. We know the park well, and while there may be livestock there, they're behind an enclosure. So it's a safe walk, fenced off for the most part, and about halfway through our walk we come upon a nice stream for drinking water.
But last weekend we decided to try Langley Park, which is across the road, more or less, from Black Park. My gardener had told me about it before, and I thought it might be an equally nice place to walk. It's lovely—the rhodedendrens are in full bloom. Towering ornamental cedar trees line the wide paths. It seemed safe enough for a dog who has a tendency to bark at cows.
We followed the path out of the park and into the Langley Estate, once owned by the grandson of the first Duke of Marlborough (he didn't get along with his grandmother, so he bought his own place). We walked along a haha, and then to the ornamental lake, where we came upon these beautiful blond cows.
With Sparky on a lead, we walked around, giving him plenty of space. Further on, we were able to let him off lead in a field, where he was mainly interested in eating the lush grass. I guess the cows gave him some ideas.
It's a nice park, and we'll probably go back. But we do love Black Park, with its wooded paths and fine views of the studio lot.
Right. I've dutifully reminded myself why I love this country, on a day which has no right to go by the name of Summer.
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