Stampede on a Sunday Morning

Living on a quiet, remote island brings peace and calm to my life. Walking in nature with my Dalmatian, enjoying the beach, snorkeling in pristine ocean waters, gazing at rolling hills while cows graze in green pastures. Are you falling asleep already?

One sunny Sunday morning, my dog and I set out for a quick walk into a quiet valley nearby. To my amazement, I could see the island of São Miguel in the distance—clearly visible and appearing much larger than usual despite being 95 kilometers away. Mesmerized and happy, I continued our walk. As usual, the cows in the pasture looked up at the strange-looking critter called a Dalmatian. Neighbors drove by on their way to Sunday morning activities, smiling and waving as we headed home. "The Hills Are Alive..."

We followed a narrow street back up the hill when I suddenly faced a small stampede heading for the valley—and inadvertently heading straight for us. Cows don't trust my dog, especially when they have calves. Where was the farmer? About a dozen crossbred beef cows had decided to take matters into their own hooves. There I was, trapped in their narrow path, stuck between a steep rock wall on one side and a steep, fenced-off slope on the other.

Think fast!

I decided to step aside toward the downslope. Bad decision. Of course. The leader of the pack, a fast-running lady, breezed past us and slowed down. What happened behind my back, I don't know, but I heard her snort and then—yep, there it was—her gentle nudge. "Stay out of my way with your scary dog."

Having been a dairy farmer in my previous life, I know the dangers of being close to cows, no matter how friendly they seem. A "gentle nudge" from 1,500+ pounds (750+ kg) of protective Simmental-ish mother is anything but gentle. This feisty, independent animal was right beside me, and I had nowhere to go, no way to defend myself. This could be the end...

I screamed at the top of my lungs, which made the rest of the herd slow their run. Then I spun around and noticed my dog had pulled herself free from her collar. We ran as fast as we could to the nearest house, where a garden gate stood wide open. Nobody home... I quickly closed the garden gate, stepped back panting, and watched the stampede pick up pace again and thunder past. Off to greener pastures—literally.

It's a small island. On our daily walks, I see how farmers manage their cattle. Most cows get pampered with plenty of feed and water and get moved to green pastures regularly. I think of my memories working with passionate ranchers, members of the Grassland Coalition. If I'm not mistaken in recognizing this free-running herd, their owner has a different practice. And today, I paid the price. I ended up with a giant bruise right underneath my buttocks (as my vet husband explains: "Blood moves down"), thankfully cushioned by the benefits of my cooking and baking hobby.

Now I can blame the farmer all I want, but the moral is this: I need to be better prepared. Even on this peaceful island, there's a chance—albeit small—of a cow picking you as the rodeo clown for the day. Next time, I'll bring a stick. And also: run for dear life the moment I see them heading my way.

Sao Miguel in the Distance