We all undergo some sort of physical or mental change caused by fear. Whether it’s rational or not. We shiver. Shake. Come out in a cold sweat. Go a little gaga. Beastie’s not immune. Even he can suffer from the heebie-jeebies on occasion.
Early morning. Laura’s love of all living creatures finds her outside, snapping away at the cows. They’ve come to give Beastie the once over. Check him out. What’s he doing here on their patch? One horned specimen – perhaps a bull – puts himself between Laura and the safety of Beastie’s belly. She holds her arm out in front. Indicates she means no harm. Like you do with a dog. Inviting a sniff. Unaware that he’d have been aware of her scent from six miles away. Never mind six feet. His panoramic vision can’t really make out what she’s doing. Turns his head slowly sideways. Takes a better look. Then with one surprisingly swift neck jerk – designed to flash his horns – makes it clear that she’d better not tangle with him. She backs off out of harms way. Comes to quiz me – “Why didn’t you come and save me Dad?”
Beastie’s not sure about the attention he’s receiving in this farm setting. (Even though there’s not a cow to be seen in the 360 above) Wants to move on. But after the overnight lashing he’s feeling more than a little apprehensive about the downhill out. Fearful even. Wonders if all the rain has created a muddy slide. Waiting for him to slip up – and down . . .
Mrs S prepares his exit . . .
He taxies towards the slip road . . . holds his breath . . .
None of us can quite believe how easy that was . . .