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From the Editor -
Dori Knight
A Merry Heart
Featured Article
The Chasing Cows
by Dori Knight

Up until recently, I hadnít put much thought into cows, at least not far beyond a nicely grilled steak or a bit of stew. I used to believe that all bovine were lazy, docile creatures, but that was before I encountered The Chasing Cows.

I now know that there is a contingent of cows who wile away their days conspiring against the human race. To the untrained eye, they might appear to be grazing, but I have learned this is a complex ruse. Secretly, they are plotting the downfall of man.

The Chasing Cows live near a friend of mine, in a broad, green pasture along a quiet country road. They are separated from the path on which we walked by a flimsy, 1000-volt fence; a mere inconvenience for a true Chasing Cow.
Organization ... Who Needs It?
by Glenn A. Hascall

In the beginning was my desk, it was burdened with the weight of much debris, and it was an offense to many.

I received a hesitant question from the front office as I roamed the building, looking for a place to sit, "Where exactly should I put this?"

"On one of the stacks," I replied, with little thought.

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They are stealthy, these bovine; so stealthy that we did not notice them creeping up on us until they were close enough that we felt their breath on the backs of our necks. In retrospect, it is probably best that we didnít notice them, for the sight of forty cows, creeping across a pasture has all the ingredients of a nightmare.

As you can well imagine, the sudden appearance of forty vicious animals on the scene is more than a little disconcerting, and so we did the only natural thing, and began to power-walk. To our dismay, they followed suit.

Having only half as many legs as the average cow, it became clear that we were not going to be able to out walk the herd. Trying not to panic, we broke into a light jog. The cows, however, broke into an equally light jog, right on our heels.

While the thought of forty jogging cows chasing two women down a street may seem comical to the casual observer, I can say with some authority that it is anything but humorous to the women in question. We took off running, flat out for cover, and the cows gave chase.

Darting behind a grain silo, we fell to the ground, panting for breath. The cows congregated at the fence across the street and attempted to bore a hole through the silo with angry looks, but the silo held firm, and we were safe. Three minutes later, they forgot about us and dispersed.

I suppose I should have called the authorities and demanded that the brutes be caged like the wild beasts that they are, but in truth, I couldnít really blame them. As a species, they have every right to be upset with the human race, considering the less than brilliant attempt at animal husbandry, which resulted in the creation of the beefalo.

Now I wonder, what exactly is the purpose of mixing a cow with a buffalo? Is there a shortage of available young bulls? And what does a beefalo look like? Is it a buffalo with spots, or a cow with bad hair? And did anyone think to ask the cow how she felt? Iím thinking not.

I felt I was on the verge of an important breakthrough in bovine anger management, so I visited a local beefalo ranch to get the answers to these pressing questions. While we were there, I had the opportunity to witness the actual birthing of a beefalo, and to learn a thing or two about the animal kingdom.

First of all, I learned that cows are very modest when it comes to issues of labor and delivery, and prefer to slip off unnoticed by the herd with as much grace and dignity as a pregnant cow can muster.

I also learned that when it comes to the birth of a new herd member, buffalo do not know the first thing about modesty. In fact, the buffaloís natural tendency is to surround the mother; the better to defend her from would be predators.

The results were that for the next hour or so, the cow Ė who was becoming increasingly annoyed with the buffalo Ė was chased about the countryside by an entire heard of shaggy beasts, bent on protecting her from lions, and tigers, and bears.

Oh my.

Finally, the exhausted cow mooed once, and the baby fell to the ground with a thud, and the beefalo began its new life on earth. It was truly quite a spectacle.

I felt for the new mother; had I been in labor and a herd of anything began chasing me about, I would have turned and killed every last one of them with a single look, demanded my epidural, and then gone about my business.

I was eager to share my new insights with friends of ours who own a cattle ranch. I waxed theoretic on all things bovine for the better part of ten minutes, beginning with my run-in with The Chasing Cows, and ending with the beefalo incident, then sat back proudly, ready to be congratulated.

"Dori," the wife said patiently, as you might to a particularly slow child. "They werenít trying to kill you. When they are hungry, they follow anyone who walks by, because they think itís time to be fed."

I weighed this new information against my carefully thought out theories; theories that had taken several weeks to conclude, and I came to only one possible response. "Oh. Never mind."

While I may never get a chance to share my thoughts with the agricultural society, at least I learned a few things, and that has to count for something.

I learned the cows are a lot like humans in a way: we both have the choice to chase or be chased. We can run from that which torments us, or we can choose to turn and run after our Provider. The choice is ours to make.

Personally? I would far rather be a Chasing Cow than a beefalo, any day.