WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- These Boots Are Made for Walking, Not Licking

     When I awoke that November morning, I had no idea that later in the day, I would have one of the strangest encounters I've experienced as a human being. My adventure did not involve another human being but rather a member, or members of the animal kingdom. Animals that were much larger than me.
     I've always felt kinda sorry for cows. They normally end up as burgers and steaks. And their ladies often provide milk for baby humans at much higher rates than they do for baby cows. They get rained on a lot, tipped over by teenage pranksters, and most of the boy cows get "fixed" at an early age. I didn't grow up on a farm, but my brother and I did help my dad "fix" a few of my uncle's male cows a couple of times when we were kids. I will spare you the details, but I will say this much: Ouch. 

     Cows have continued to show up in my life every once in a while, and not just on the dinner table. Take for example, the aforementioned November afternoon in 2016. While deer hunting"  in a friend's field, an entire herd of cows decided to pay me a visit as I sat on the ground against a tree. (As fate would have it, I forgot my climbing stand that day). They stood there looking at me for at least thirty minutes. Obviously unintimidated by the rifle propped up next to me, several cows approached within a few feet of me . But the biggest cow just stared at me from about ten feet away. I have been accused of fabricating stories for these columns at times. Realizing at the time that my fellow humans may be inclined not to believe such a tale, I took action. Despite keeping my eyes glued to the crowd surrounding me, I had the wherewithal to slowly pull out my phone and film the scene I am about to share with you.

     I named my "closest" cow friends Daisy, Rosey, Milli, and Vanilli. I thought they were all girls at first. But later, in an Aha! moment,  I realized Vanilli was a dude, not a dudette. Don't ask me how I figured it out, just trust me. He was the one who kept staring at me incessantly. And Vanilli didn't seem to like the nickname I had given him. So I decided to let him peer at me for as long as he wished. I'm pretty sure he was sizing me up for dinner.  

     I slowly and carefully texted my dad and asked him if a bull with chopped off horns was really all that dangerous. I figured Dad would say- "Only if he wants to eat you." Actually, Dad didn't return the text. I forgot he hardly ever did texting, only Mom does that. But when I didn't hear anything back, strangely I felt a sense of relief. If there was a problem, surely he would have warned me. (He got the text the next day and replied that bulls without their horns are indeed dangerous and I should be really careful). Oops.

     My right hand was placed on a loaded rifle but my human friend who owned the field had made me promise I wouldn't shoot any of his cows. (True story). I decided to remain seated on the ground, remaining  completely still while letting the cows dictate the pace. Within a few minutes Milli, Rosey, and Daisy had invaded my personal space to the point I could smell their bovine breath. And then it happened. Suddenly and without warning, Milli stuck out her gnarly heifer tongue and commenced to licking my left boot. Right on cue, Rosey followed suit by licking my rifle. Vanilli continued to stare a hole through me. Not to be outdone, Daisy licked my right boot. I was too amused to be anxious. Except for a slight uneasiness due to the length of the staring contest with Vanilli. 

     It all ended peacefully a few minutes later when the ladies decided that muddy boots and rifle scopes weren't all that tasty and they moved on. Vanilli stared a while longer but jumped higher than a Russian gymnast when a shot rang out nearby. Watching Vanilli run away made me realize I wouldn't have been able to outrun him had I had the urge. The shot was from my son a few hundred yards away, who had actually seen a deer instead of a herd of cows. 

     Whew! Safe once again. But I felt bad for the cows. They always end up getting slaughtered in the end.(Recall the whole burgers and steaks thing)- just like in the story of the Prodigal Son, which was shared in a sermon I heard at church recently. Poor old Fatted Calf. He didn't do anything wrong. The Prodigal Son was the one who ran away and got wrapped up in all that mischief and tomfoolery. Surely the wayward son deserved death more than a perfectly behaved cow whose only crimes were chomping on brush and weeds all day and not being properly potty trained.

     But Luke 15:20 tells us that the father ran and embraced his child, welcoming him back, even while knowing the sin and decadence his son had gotten himself involved in. And then comes the bad news for the stud cow in verse 23: the celebration would include an appearance by the Fatted Calf- as the main course. Not only was the son forgiven, he was treated to the finest delicacy his dad could produce. 

     I feel sorry for the cows, but I'm certainly glad to be one of those children who the Heavenly Father is willing to forgive and embrace, even when we have strayed from the good and decent path He has laid out for us.

     I don't know how it all works in Heaven, but I hope the Fatted Calf and my other cow friends are allowed a place AT the table instead of ON the table. Then maybe I would get the chance to thank a few of them for all the ice cream, cheeseburgers, and Rib Eyes. Perhaps I could find a giant boot made out of oats, corn, and barley for Daisy, Rosey, and Milli to lick. And of course, I would thank Vanilli for not eating me that day in the field. It will be me, the Prodigal Son, the lions, the lambs, and of course our cow buddies, all sitting down together to enjoy a grand feast. I can hardly wait.

 For the full youtube video, go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJFNPegMaPg&t=124s