An unexpected encounter with Highland cows

On leaving the car, I was perturbed to feel a heavy raindrop splash off my beanie.

Despite the grey clouds, it was not meant to rain this morning. I had taken the opportunity to take Skye on one of our favourite local walks. Although used to wet weather, having lived in the UK for my entire life, and Scotland for 10 years of it, this was less that ideal.

I resigned myself to stuffing my hair under my hood. Or two hoods in fact. And trudged on.

It didn’t take long for my mood to lift. I took a moment to shelter under a mighty fir to watch the river rush under a historic stone arched bridge. The river is swollen today. The milder weather thawing the frozen highlands for a spell. Resulting in a sense of urgency and mayhem from the river. Frothing with white water. I wondered where it was going in such a hurry.

The silence was sudden. My ears had become used to the rush of water blanketing all other noise. In a mere few metres, this had been deadened by the steady power of the pines. Thrusting towards the sky from a deep heather encrusted bank. I could hear the gentle winter birdsong again.

Then came the inevitable struggle with a gate. This is a known foe. Many embarrassing moments have been felt as I’ve struggled to open various gates as part of my role as a wildlife conservationist. Bolts that stayed stubbornly fast. Keys that would not fit the rusted padlock. Much lifting and pulling and pushing, often under the confounded gaze of some man, waiting in a vehicle. I hated that feeling of letting the sex down. But gates have always been a source of strife for me.

This time, rather than a judgemental human gaze, I had to endure being carefully watched by not one, but three Highland cows. Despite their immense bulk and menacing bone coloured horns, curving to a deadly point, I preferred this scenario.

I have always had a innate fearlessness around animals. I was the child that went running towards rather than away from a barking dog. No matter the size.

This has been reinforced by the warm welcomes I’ve received. I’m privileged that animals seem to sense I am a friend. Belly’s are presented and my lap has become a seat on countless occasions.

Cows are creatures that I am familiar with. Living in rural locations as a child, we were never far from a cow field or two. Rambling through the Highlands means we cross paths on a regular basis.

I lived on a farm for a couple of years, with cows being my closest neighbours. On more than one occasion, I opened my curtains in the morning to be greeted by a cow, peering at me with its steady gaze. I became adept at herding them back into their fields.

They were fascinated by my cat, Meeko. He knew how to draw a crowd. Often, he’d stretch fully out on the ground, belly up to the sky, leisurely rolling amongst the grass, in full view of the cows. They were transfixed. Their clear confusion was absurdly amusing. I wonder what was going through their minds?

Despite my lack of fear, I never want to startle cows. They are large after all and accidents are easy. I therefore kept Skye on a tight lead as we approached. I decided to announce my presence with a soft cough, before keeping up a steady gentle monologue, to reassure these creatures that we presented no threat.

I won the struggle with the gate and we were through. After a few paces, I couldn’t resist a peek back. Admiring these stunning animals in the most perfect rugged Highland location. A special moment that I’m so grateful for.