I, Paul Bell, was attacked by a cow.

Before I tell you about that though, I need to tell you how I ended up in that predicament. I woke up at 5:30 that morning to go to class, and then ate breakfast. Then I put on my black coveralls, and my rain boots and headed out to the farm.

You should know, I’m from a place called Edisto Beach. The beach, you know? Sun. Shorts. Sand. Waves. Surfing. Now I’m on a farm, with big ugly farm animals, so on my first day, I didn’t know what to expect. I went to feed the pigs their bucket of garbage, and I poured it over the fence. They jumped into their trough while I was doing it, and most of it went all over their heads. They jumped and snorted and fought each other over the food.

Next, I went to get eggs with Mr. Mike from the chicken house. He tells me to “reach under their butts and grab the eggs.” I did, but I really didn’t’ want to.

I don’t really like farm animals. I’m a dog person, and I like house pets, but I’m not sure about big fierce cows, pigs and chickens.

So now that you know that I’m not a natural farm hand, you can see why it got worse when I was attacked by a big, black, mangy, mud-caked, walleyed, knock-kneed, man killing cow named Oscar.

We were in the middle of a cattle drive, taking three cows down the road to a new pasture. This was obviously my first cattle drive, and Mr. Mike told me to get a bucket full of grain. I did, but I didn’t know what he was about to ask me to do.

He told me to get in front of the cows with the bucket and lead them down this really narrow road. As soon as I did, they started to come towards me. Not having been around cows before, I walked faster, and they walked faster, so I walked even faster, and then suddenly I felt this bumping at the bucket. I looked over my shoulder, and there is Oscar, slamming his big black head into the bucket. One of his horns poked me in the ribs, and he stepped on my toe.

For almost a mile I had to deal with this cow, and his head in my stomach, and his big cow feet on my feet, and his huge head still trying to get into my bucket. And to this day, that cow stares at me every time I walk by to feed the pigs or take out the garbage. That cow is always there, watching me.

It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to though. Every time I walk out with my black overalls on, and I look over at that cow, and look down the hill at the farm, in some weird way, I’m glad that I’m here.

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