I have never liked cows. Horses, yes; dogs, yes; but cows, no! Well,
that is, until I met Daisy. Though Daisy was a cow she was as beautiful and cute
as any tiny puppy or kitten and she had the manners of a lady born and
bred.
        My first face to face encounter with these bovine creatures left me with a
feeling of inadequacy and helplessness which I suppose I have never quite
forgotten. 
        I was flying my hang-glider in the beautiful Glens of Antrim when an
unexpected down-draught forced me to land in a field where a herd of
bullocks were grazing.
        In seconds these surly beasts had me surrounded and were making
threatening bellows and charging at the glider, stopping just short of
actual contact. 
        I was forced back more and more until the banks of a stream prevented my
retreating any farther. Surrounded by the beasts, I was well and truly
trapped. 
        Then a little girl, about ten years old and the farmer's daughter
presumably, arrived to chase them away. She contemptuously gave one of the
brutes a whack on the rump with the stick she was carrying and shouted,
'shoo'.         To my everlasting astonishment they galloped away to a corner of
the field and cowered there, leaving me with the little girl and feeling a
right fool.
        'You can get out now, mister,' she said with just a hint of laughter in
her eyes. 'Don't worry, I won't let them touch you.'
        I picked up my glider and departed with a burning face. I now eat steak
with a clear conscience. It's a small revenge but it'll have to do. I'm not
going back for another confrontation! 
        Daisy, on the other hand, was a beautiful and gentle pedigree Jersey and -
well, that's an entire story in itself:-

        I was at the shop-fitting at the time. Working for a Belfast company and
leading my band of merry men wherever the job took us. 
        As a sideline the company occasionally erected stands at various
exhibitions around the country and I loved these jobs for when it took more
than a day to erect a trade stand we usually stayed in the nearest hotel
and the nights always held adventure for a young man far from home and
single.
        We had completed this particular trade stand in the main workshop ahead of
schedule and I headed for Dublin at an easy pace to erect it on a fine
Monday morning in June some years ago. 
        There were three of us in the big box van as we drove south. Clem, myself,
and Jimmy the Bampot. It was to be Jimmy's last job with the firm. He was
going to Germany to work on a huge construction job at the end of the week
to try and save enough money to get married.    
        He didn't know it then but we intended to give him a hot send-off. Jimmy
was the world's greatest practical joker and we had had enough of his
antics.  All that day, every time he lifted his hammer he found the handle
plastered with glue. His coat was tied in knots and the sleeves stuffed
with sawdust. Juvenile perhaps, but satisfying nonetheless to see the biter
bit. In short, for the entire day we made his life a misery.
        By six o'clock the stand was finished and we stood back to check it over.
A representation of a barn from the Tyrol, it really looked the part. As we
wandered around testing and tugging at things to make sure they were secure
two farm-hands arrived to erect a steel grid pen in the centre of the
stand. When the pen was complete they scattered straw over the floor and
then they brought in Daisy.
        She was one of those animals that you just had to pat and scratch behind
the ears. Beautifully clean and brushed, she was a chocolate-box Jersey cow
with a big brass bell hanging around her neck. She had a champion of show
rosette and ribbon tied to her halter so she was obviously a valuable
animal. 
        Two huge brown eyes looked placidly at me and she gave a soft 'moo'.
Unable to resist I reached out and scratched behind her ears. It was love
at first sight and I wish now I'd never met her.
        With the stand erected we packed our gear and headed north and home. The
show would last a week then we were to return and dismantle the stand for
storage.
        The week passed doing other jobs and Friday found us on the Dublin road
once more. This time Clem and I were in the van and Jimmy was trailing
behind us on his motorbike. 
        When the job was finished he intended to drive on south to Cork to catch
the ferry to France. Not having to return to Belfast would save him a
couple of hundred miles or so. 
        We arrived at the show grounds before noon and started work. The stand was
soon dismantled and loaded into the van. We then backed the big van out to
the car-park and retired to the local hostelry to give Jimmy a good send
off. 
        We left Daisy in her pen and quite happy with all the attention she had
received from the crowds during the week. Her own men were due to take her
away later, after we had gone.
        After a few drinks Jimmy went off to the toilets and we glanced at our
watches and decided it was high time to be moving on. Twenty minutes later
Jimmy came wandering back to the bar and we shook hands, slapped his
shoulders and parted company the best of mates. 
        I never saw him again which was just as well for I think I'd still try to
strangle him even today.
        The run home was quicker than usual and four o'clock found us backing the
van into the firm's yard. The boss was waiting for us with the shop foreman
in attendance at his side. I believe they needed the size of a window that
had been used in the show-stand to see if it would fit into another stand.
The boss believed in saving money whenever possible.
        He glared at us.
        'Well? What kept you? Did you get the window out clean? Did you break it?'
        This were normal questions and I ignored them apart from a brief nod
concerning the window. Mr J.McC..e thought  the big van was powered by a
Rolls Royce RB211 turbojet and cruised at six hundred plus. We never got
home fast enough for him.
        Without waiting for an answer he slipped the catches on the tailboard and
dropped the ramp. Still glaring at us he stepped inside - and stopped dead
with bulging eyes.
        'Moo,' said Daisy, by way of greeting, lifting her head from the bale of
hay she was munching and staring at James F.
        'Jeaaasus Christ!' said our well educated boss, showing his stout
Methodist upbringing and fine command of the English language.
        Daisy went 'moo' again, deafening everyone in the confined space, and
James F. took a pace back in alarm. His heel dropped into one of Daisy's
little 'offerings', which had the coefficient of friction at least equal to
Teflon on ice and while his arms uselessly flailed the air his legs shot
from under him and he landed flat on his back on another of Daisy's little
piles. 
        This instantly turned a five hundred pound Saville row suit into a
camouflage jacket and James F. into a raging lunatic. 
        It might be best to draw a veil over the next few minutes during which,
among other things, I learned my mother had had intercourse with a camel
and my parents weren't married. 
        I must say, my Bible thumping boss's wide ranging education never failed
to astonish me.
        In vain I protested I had no idea how Daisy had got into the van though I
had a dammed good idea how she'd managed it! Jimmy the Bampot had had his
revenge and no mistake.
        When the screaming died down Clem and I climbed aboard the van and with
clenched teeth headed back the way we had come. This time we were
travelling in our own time of course. James F was definitely not paying
travel expenses for this trip!
        Now cattle rustlers are dealt with in the same manner the world over. It's
called summary justice and I was worried I could leave Dublin with more
holes than the standard issue. 
The Northern Irish border with the Republic also posed a problem. We would
have to cross it with Daisy on board.
        We had only managed to get across with Daisy because I didn't know she was
in the van and the custom's officer hadn't bothered to check the van's
contents. 
Like all custom's men they could spot a furtive glance a mile away and
going north I was innocent of course. Going back was a different story
altogether. They would spot the sweat on my upper lip immediately and home
in like bloodhounds. 
        Clem suggested we take a side road and use an unofficial road to cross the
border. There are dozens of these little side roads connecting farms on
both sides of the border. 
I thought that might be best so we pulled onto a side road and bumped our
way south with side lights only through the gathering darkness.
        It was Clem who spotted the swinging red light first. My heart sank into
my boots and I could see the headlines in the morning papers already.                   
'Shopfitters caught smuggling pedigree Jersey!'
        But it wasn't the customs or even the local police. It was an army patrol
searching for terrorists. A soldier stepped out in front of the van with
his automatic rifle politely pointing at the ground and waved me down. In a
moment of madness I  even considered putting my foot down and racing
through the checkpoint but I knew there would be another soldier lying in
the hedge about fifty yards ahead and there would be thirty slugs coming
through the windshield before I could cough. I chickened out, stopped the
wagon and climbed down.
        'What have you got in the van, sir?'
        The officer was a Green Howard from my brother's old regiment and polite
with it, which was a good sign. It meant he couldn't be serving over here
too long and wouldn't know too much about smuggling.
        'We've a sick cow aboard, officer' I offered, lowering the tailboard and
inviting him aboard. 'We're taking her to a vet in Dublin.'
        I hope it sounded convincing.
        The guy was from Yorkshire and one glance into Daisy's big brown eyes was
enough. Like everybody else who had met Daisy, with the possible exception
of James F. McC.., he fell in love with her right away.
        'What's wrong with her?' he asked, gently stroking Daisy's muzzle.
        I hadn't a clue! Fortunately Clem was a farmers son.
        'She swallowed a piece of barbed wire. It'll have to be cut out,' he said
without batting an eye.
        The soldier made clucking noises and stood up.
        'We'll not hold you back then. On your way, lads, and I hope she'll be
okay.'
        We assured him the operation to remove the imaginary piece of wire was
simple and Daisy would be just fine. 
        Sucker! We were out of there like a couple of whippets and over the border
inside ten minutes. But I noticed the patrol's big sergeant noting the
van's number in his notebook as we drove off.
        If Daisy turned up in the wrong place it wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to
work out who was responsible. So much for my half formed idea of setting
her loose in a field somewhere! We would have to take her all the way back
now and face the music.
        It was well after ten that night when we pulled into the now almost empty
show grounds to return Daisy to her pen. I still had no idea of what to say
to her owners when they grabbed me by the throat and demanded to know where
she'd been.
        We led her to her pen easily enough for she was a placid animal and had
barely slipped the bars across the entrance when a Land Rover with a
horse-box in tow screeched to a stop and three scruffy and slightly drunk
individuals piled out. This allowed the small woman jammed between them to
get out also though I noticed nobody offered to help her. 
        They all staggered towards me with the little woman obviously furiously
angry about something because I could see her fists clench and unclench as
she looked at Daisy's pen.
        My heart sank at the sight of them. 
        There was Pa and Ma and two middle-aged sons with the elbows out of their
tattered pullovers and six months accumulation of cow shit on their boots.
        Not exactly the sort of characters a man should cross; they looked as if
they would be carrying a couple of chewed off shotguns in the Land Rover
and I wondered if I should just raise my hands, back up against the wall
and ask for a cigarette and a blindfold. 
        Then something extraordinary happened and my guardian angel started
working overtime.
        Poor Pa stopped dead and did a double take when he saw Daisy contentedly
munching in her pen. His jaw dropped and he just stood there staring, a
frothy drool dripping unheeded from the side of his mouth, unable to
believe his eyes.
         I had met Pa a thousand times before on the roads of Ulster. Old farmers
like him were a menace on the roads. Although they never seemed to have an
accident they must have caused thousands!
        Paddy hat jammed on the back of their heads and seated sideways at the
wheel as if they were still driving a tractor, they wander down the middle
of the road, straddling the white line as if it were a furrow, with the
Land Rover on 'George' at twenty miles per hour and only two glow-worm side
lights showing, 'to save the battery', they're completely oblivious to
other traffic.
        Ma was in charge. She left no doubt about that! 
        She grabbed Pa by the shoulder and pointed at Daisy as she screeched,
'What the bloody hell is that then, you stupid aul bastard? Scotch mist on
four legs?' 
        Ma was obviously a refined lady. I could see that right away! And well
educated - she could count!
        She grabbed the old man by the front of his ragged pullover and trailed
him towards Daisy. His eyes widened and a beery belch escaped from his open
mouth as he turned on wobbling legs to face his wife .
        'She wasn't here, I tell you,' he protested to Ma. He staggered as he
turned back to Daisy, ignoring Ma for the moment. 'Where were you, my
darling?'  
        He planted a reeking kiss right on Daisy's muzzle, making her stagger and
'moo' plaintively as his breath went up her nostrils. 
        Still, looking at Ma I think I would have preferred to kiss the cow too.
        Ma grabbed him by the throat to get his attention and glared at me as she
shook Pa like a rag doll.
        'Do you know how far we've had to come because of this aul fool?'
        I shook my head. The sign on the horse-box said 'D--- Dairy Farm of
Tipperary' and it was on the tip of my tongue to say 'It's a long way to
Tipperary, ten million soldiers can't be wrong', but something in Ma's eyes
told me levity would not be advisable at this particular point in time.
        Without waiting for an answer Ma continued her tirade, 'We sent him to
pick up the coo. Now you would thing any god-forsaken fool on this earth
could do that, wouldn't you? Pick up a coo? But not this aul idjit. Oh no!
He gets so drunk he forgets what he was sent to do!'
        'I did not!' Pa screeched when Ma released her grip on his neck enough to
talk. 'I only had two Guinness! I tell you, she wasn't here!'
        'Well she's here now! Maybe she went for a walk round Dublin to see the
sights? Ma suggested sarcastically. Her voice rose an octave and she
screeched, 'Or maybe you just need your glasses changed!'
        I looked at Pa with some interest. He was on a losing streak and nobody in
the whole wide world except me could save him and believe me, I had no
intention whatsoever of doing just that! 
        Poor bugger, it was obvious what had happened. He had stopped for a few
jars to wet his whistle on the way to the show-grounds and then found
Daisy's pen empty when he finally arrived to pick her up. 
Thinking maybe one of the boys had already picked her up to save him the
bother he had turned around and driven straight home, probably stopping for
a few more jars of firewater en route. 
By the time he got home he was well oiled and a suitable target for Ma's
ire. Nothing he could say now would be believed. 
        'Your da's a drunken asshole,' Ma informed number one son, thoughtfully,
releasing Pa so suddenly he had to grab at the rail of Daisy's pen to stop
himself falling.
        The son nodded sagely as he considered this. 
        'Well - it was you that married him,' he pointed out mildly. 'Doesn't that
make you one too?,' he continued recklessly, like a good son and obeying
the Biblical injunction to honour your father and your mother.
        Ma glared at him furiously. 
        'What? What did you say to me?'  She made a rush at him. ' I'll skelp your
ears! You're not too big yet!'
        Number one son retreated rapidly with the furious Ma after him like a
bulldog and as the war hotted up I backed away slowly and cautiously and
within five minutes we were hammering home in the big van, glad to be out
of it and still alive. 
        I glanced at my watch as we joined the N1 to Belfast. Jimmy the Bampot
would be aboard the Saint Patrick by now and enjoying a steak in her
restaurant while we had another hundred weary miles to cover. 
        I hope it choked him.