"Mama and the Killer Cow"

One of the reasons my father uses to explain his lack of interest in coming to visit us here in India, is the prevalence of cows. I don't think he has any particular problem with them (in fact I know for a fact he whips up a mean homemade hamburger patty from scratch, and makes an incredible minced meat and egg dish) but he likes to tease me about the fact that cows roam freely here in India.

He's right, they do. But they form such a picturesque part of the slowly moving landscape that you'd really miss the big lazy creatures if they weren't ambling around...by the dump...one the beaches...down the roads stopping traffic...even popping their heads inquisitively into a fruit stall to try and nick a bite of watermelon (an amusing site I happened to be privy to the other day).

However, today was a different matter. I got chased by a bloody cow.

The husband was off on an all day motorbike trip with a mate, careening through forests and past brightly coloured temples and remote Dams...

Left in solo charge of the monsters, I took advantage of their being at school in the morning to nip over to the (now frequently closed) internet cafe on the main beach road.

As the local Dump is on the way, I grabbed a big plastic bag full of rubbish. (It's total role reversal in this family; for whatever reason, it's MY job to see to bin duty. I suspect this is because the husband takes advantage of my cockroach paranoia to engage in a regular game of 'who's going to cave in first' - knowing full well that there is no way I can leave a festering insect trap lurking in our 'open plan' kitchen for longer than a day. And he's right. In our family it's "He/She who cares most loses" and fyi that goes for a lot more than just bin duty.)

Anyway, as I turned left out of our dirt lane and headed onto the road proper, I felt a big brown cow come up behind me. I smiled, said something inane to it (I was in a good mood okay?) and was shocked when it forcefully nudged my bag and tried to grab it. Then it did it again.

I sped up and started walking faster.

It sped up.

I moved into a slow jog with some discomfort (it was midday after all and too hot to breathe let alone run).

IT began briskly trotting (do cows trot?).

I was getting freaked out. In a panic I suddenly darted across the road - not even looking for cars or scooters which might suddenly round the corner, signalling my demise.

Well wouldn't you know... the bloody cow dashed across the road in pursuit. Neck in neck we raced along, she now vehemently trying to chew the bag (and my fingers by proxy) with renewed zeal.

Still yards away from the dump I did a not very nice thing and let the bag go flying up into the air, watching as the cow attacked it upon impact with the ground and began to munching the contents with glee.

What did I learn today?

Cows can really run when they want to.

And they love watermelon.

And I'm a big old scaredy-cat.

I mean for goodness sake it was a cow.