“Life is dangerous, that’s what makes it interesting.” - John Twelve Hawks

The best thing I ever did for myself was throw a stick at a cow. Not an overly extravagant accomplishment, but I certainly learned a lot from it. Just a little over six years into the world, on a day so hot I could practically taste burnt air, my father took my two sisters and me down to the barn.
It wasn’t the most attractive place in the world, but to my eyes it was an adventure waiting to happen. Amid mountainous hay bales and rolling seas of grass, I eagerly awaited the chance to seek out every little thing in this field.
As soon as dad set us loose to explore, he began to cut a few trees down to make firewood. I sprung into the chest-high grass and basically touched my nose to the ground, on the lookout for something interesting. There were fat beetles, busy ants, and shy butterflies that could’ve captivated me for a lifetime, but I was interrupted by indignant shrieks and a chorus of lazy ‘moos’.


Standing and regretfully leaving my insect friends behind, I stretched high on my toes in order to glimpse what was happening beyond the grass. I caught sight of my two sisters, one older, the other younger, sitting together on top of a tree that my father had cut down. I could hear their complaints from where I stood, but for the life of me I didn’t know what they were so upset about.

Moving out of the grass was my ploy to get a better view of their predicament. Now in the open, I stared dumbly for a moment at what surrounded the tree my siblings were currently settled on. They were surrounded by an incredible, terrifying army…

Of cows.
Arranged in battalion formation: nearly twelve cows across and three deep they stood. Massive in stature, with beady dark eyes that seemed forever unfocused. These cows were all charcoal black, which couldn’t have been the most pleasant fur color to have when the sun flared like this.

My admiration of these foes was interrupted when I realized that my sisters were still whining audibly about the dilemma they found themselves in. My dad was out of reach; with his chainsaw in hand and the concentration he was using to cut down trees for kindling, it was unlikely he’d hear me yelling for him. I tried anyway.

“Dad!” I called, cupping my hands around my mouth. I tried again and again, but I didn’t succeed. Eventually, I resorted to crossing my arms and huffing in annoyance. Now it was all up to me. It was almost like a superhero set-up -- I, the favored protagonist, the cows the nefarious villains, and my sisters the damsels in distress.

My feet bounded forward in a blaze of six year old glory.

The glitzy rainbows on my tennis shoes shone in the sun, my ponytail whipped my face, and my body moved onwards; ready for action. With careful precision I scanned the ground, looking for some sort of weapon. Since there isn’t much of an arsenal in a cow field, I sought out a stick.

And what a wonderful stick it was! The pair of hands that usually picked up toys and Cheerios snatched the small branch. Putting my entire body into motion, I let my weapon fly. My body’s momentum sent it in a direct line; hurtling towards the target.

My throw was decently aimed, and the stick struck home on an unfortunate cow’s behind. Time crawled to a stop and the branch seemed to hang in the air for a moment before clattering to the ground.

One beat of silence.

Two.

Suddenly, the beast turned its head, black eyes seemingly pinning me in place. I probably would’ve started crying and begging for mercy had I not caught sight of something else.

In addition to getting its attention, my shot had also mussed up the tufts of black fur on the cow’s behind, making it look comical. So instead of collapsing into a terrified, sniveling mess, I stared right back at that cow; daring it to do something.

It certainly did something. The cow turned to fully face me, giving me an unwanted view of angry cow face. My mind connected the current scene to old time desperados facing off in the desert. Certainly I’d come out victorious… right?

Before I could ponder the situation, the cow lurched forward in an angry charge.

I’m inferring that most people have never had an incensed, 1200 pound animal hurtling towards them. The rush of terror that flooded my mind froze me to the spot. The animal drew closer, it’s hooves leaving deep impacts in the soft dirt.

A synapse fired in my brain, and my body finally began to move. I shot forwards as fast as I was able, the expression on my face probably akin to a bunny hopping away from its predator.

My only focus was on the barn; on safety. If only I could reach that haven of red and white, then I’d be free from danger. The barn loomed above my head as I neared it, and the white door beckoned me inside. The distance seemed too vast to cross, but I threw my arm out anyways; hoping to catch the doorknob.
My clammy, stiff fingers caught the rounded edge of cold metal, and the last barrier between me and my well-being was jerked away.

The resounding snap of that door slamming is one that I will never forget. The sound of labored breathing echoed off of the walls and I rested my hands on my knees, ready to plop on the ground and never get up. My heart leapt into my throat when there was a loud ‘BANG’ against the side of the barn. With wide eyes I stared, my gaze landing on a small dent in the side paneling.

Hopefully that hard hit to the head had lessened the cow´s anger.

Anxiously, I waited a moment, tensed and expecting an enraged animal to bash its head into the barn wall again, but nothing happened. I let myself sink to the ground, muscles relaxing and my breathing evening out. The sweet smell of hay hung in the air and blocked out the smell of the rest of the cow field, which I was very grateful for.

There in the relative silence that encompassed the area I was in, thoughts flew through my head. They weren’t anything overly sophisticated; I was, after all, just a six year old. One repetitive idea went through my head like a record on repeat: ‘That was a dumb idea...I’ll never throw a stick at a cow again.’

Thinking back, I can easily acknowledge that the whole experience taught me a lot. I was able to realize that decisions directly affect the aftermath, and that if I choose ways that will get me into trouble, I’m going to have to go through something unpleasant. Though I’d rather I hadn’t learned from a potentially dangerous plight, it did help me a lot.

Today I go back to what happened then, and apply it to the challenges life throws my way. Instead of doing something rash, I rationalize and choose a better option. It’s weird how something so mundane taught me such an important lesson.
Think before you act, before you speak, and before you ever, ever, throw a stick at a beast as terrible as a cow.