“Mom, that cow just kicked a dog across the street.”
Ya know, now that I’m thinking about it, I might want to tell you the full story before I tell you that little part. Because there’s a lot more to this incident than just a cow kicking a dog and the entire situation being completely traumatic for me.
I must’ve been like, 6 years old when this started. My sister – older by a wide margin – had informed me seriously that, not only was I a mistake, a creep, and a little brat, but that my karma was terrible and one day it was going to come around and “kick me in the bleep.”
Me being the 6 year old I was, I believed her instantly. I put on a look of absolute dread and freaked out. Not only had my stupid sister cursed at me, I was going to get my bleep kicked by Karma! So I asked her what I could do about that.
She told me that a little creep that wasn’t supposed to have ever been born couldn’t undo their karma. Apparently, I was doomed. I told her that she was just jealous because our parents didn’t love her like they did me, and by the way sis you’ve got a huge zit on your face and I’m sure everyone’s been staring at it all day.
I think I hit a soft spot, because she threw her notebook at me and started screaming that if I didn’t get the bleep out of her bleep room she was going to bleep me in the bleep and then bleep my head off and feed it to the dogs.
When under the impression that my sister was serious about killing me, I usually flee. So that was what I did at the time; I ran away and hid in my room under the bed so she wouldn’t be able to find me should she decide to bleep my head off and feed it to the dogs.
But of course, now I had a new dilemma; I had a mountain of karma, and no idea how to get rid of it. I cursed my stupidity for getting my sister mad. I found my plastic worker helmet and stuck it on my head, just in case she came after me again.
I went downstairs and asked mom how I could get rid of my karma. She wasn’t listening to me. She was dancing the jive to some oldies song that I didn’t recognize. Something about “keeping the fire.” But I didn’t really care about the song; I needed answers, and I needed them fast, or karma was going to kick me in the bleep.
So I tugged on her pants. She didn’t notice me, so I tugged harder. I think I almost pulled her pants off. She finally took off her headphones and stopped singing long enough to listen to me. She was standing over a steak that she had been carving up for dinner. I frowned when I saw it; I didn’t like steak very much. It was too chewy. I usually ended up taking enormous bites and then chewing on them for fifteen hours until I got tired of the taste and spit it out.
She asked me what was up. When I was wearing my helmet, it meant that something was “up.” This was just an automatic thing that had come to be known in the house.
I explained to her that karma was coming to beat me up, and that I needed to fix my karma before it killed me. She looked at me seriously, and seemed to understand my dilemma. So I asked her, very seriously;
“Mom, how do I get good karma?”
She glanced at the stove, where the cutting board with the slab of meat on it was waiting impatiently. She looked out the window. She looked back down at me.
And then she told me, very seriously, that waving at cows would increase my good karma and take away my bad karma.
That day changed my life.
So, it’s the 2000s, and me and mom are driving to the store via the back road because it’s the end of the work shift and people are going home and stuff. Naturally, the highway is a bit crowded. The back roads have a lot of farms along them, and thus I wave at a lot of cows. Mom thinks I’m funny and tries to humor me, but she doesn’t understand that I’m dead serious about this waving business.
The back seat is loaded with groceries, and the milk and soda have been getting thrown around throughout the entire trip. If it wasn’t for my amazing karma, the soda probably would’ve exploded by now. We’re actually heading back to the store because mom forgot to buy some things, namely coffee and ice cream. I suggested that she just make it cheap and buy coffee flavored ice cream, but she didn’t like my “sarcasm.” You bleep, I was being serious!
As we’re coming up on another farm, I spot a particular cow. He’s stretching like a cat and standing up, cracking his neck back and forth. I watch, fascinated as we approach. I see a dog, looks like a collie, come running up out of nowhere and start yapping at the cows heels.
My mouth drops like a rock when I see that cow stand up on his back legs and punt the dog across the street, right over our car. Mom tells me to close my mouth before something flies into it. I ignore her, twisting around in my seat.
In case you were wondering, this is a residential area, so we’re only going 20 mph, 10 below the speed limit because my mom is lame. That’s why I was able to witness all of this, just for the record.
Anyway, I’m twisting around in my seat. The dog rolled down the hillside across from the cow and has completely disappeared from view. The cow is looking at me. Finally, he raises a hoof and makes this weird motion that looks like it should be some kind of wave.
I wave back tentatively, and then turn back to face the dashboard.
“Mom, that cow just kicked a dog across the street.”
“What?” She looks surprised, but chuckles nervously. She thinks I’m batty. She’s thought that I needed mental help since I was like, 7, so it’s no surprise that she’d be unsure of how to react to me seeing a cow kicking a dog across the road.
I decide not to repeat myself. On the way back, I see that the lone cow that had kicked the dog across the street has been joined by his fellow cows. They wave at me.
I wave back.