I thought I liked cows. To a city girl they seem like fat slow-moving dogs.
All the villages I’ve stayed in have been quite rural. They let their animals graze and move freely around the pastures. Occasionally there’s some strings tied between posts to serve as a fence, but otherwise animal movement is unencumbered.
Somehow, during this entire trip, not a single cow has taken to me.
Judging by the butterflies who keep landing on me, I am the chosen one. I am the animal whisperer.
Yet I cannot charm a cow.
Every time I pass by, always respectfully at a distance, they stare. Snort. Moo. As though I’m the one that eats hamburgers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Thanks to that documentary "Food Inc.", I haven’t even eaten one since I was 16! Side note - I bet that substitute teacher never imagined that his laziness was going to cause such a fiscal dent in the beef industry. What a butterfly effect.
Day 8: Cabana De Moiry to Zinal (Map)
And so, on the 8th day, the matter escalates. The trail descends from the Moiry glacier, walks alongside Lac de Moiry, then ascends to Corne de Sorebois. It finishes with enjoying the view of the steep downhill trail from the comfort of a gondola. I have no shame.
The ascent is through a big pasture. Of cattle. Unfettered guys and gals of the bovine family in all colors and sizes.
Something else nobody mentions about cattle is the poo. So. Much. Excrement. The pasture is full of flowers and butterflies, yet it smells the exact opposite of floral.
I’m struggling uphill, trying to sidestep the poo and keep a good distance from the cattle.
One younger looking male seems to take a particular interest in me.
He starts doing that intense staring thing. Now while this is a common look for many an unrefined gentleman the world over, I take it more seriously when it’s coming from a 1,000+ pound furry creature with horns.
I’m doing my best to avoid eye contact while also trying to keep an eye on the beast.
Then he starts at a half gallop towards me. Perhaps in reality or in my imagination, his head is tilted down, with those little horns of death sticking out.
Holy cow.
Or more accurately, holy sh*t. Because as I try to skedaddle out of the way, I yelp and step into a big pile of cow poo.
Either my yelp startled him or he just wanted to see me step on a turd. Either way, the hamburger stops his intimidation tactics. He stares a bit longer, then a grass shrub captures his attention. I scurry forward, now entirely paranoid of being in this pasture surrounded by horned assassins.
And that is how I came to call every cow and bull I came across thereafter as a “f*cking hamburger”.
Oh, and here’s the view from the top of Corne de Sorebois. A perfect clear blue sky, jagged dark peaks with just the right amount of white, descending into a fine green moss. Nature is the greatest artist, bar none.
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