Cow On The 855!

The call came from Jim from up the road, early one morning last week:


"You have a cow out on the road, just near the tower!"

His fiancée was heading to work and spotted it so called him.

And off went the guys to get it back in. They found out later that another neighbour, Carla, had also seen the cow and called her husband, Steve, who promptly headed over to lend a hand ...

The first morning I woke up into my new life, I was blearily sipping tea and wondering if I was going to be awake every day at 5:24 a.m.

(Well, at least I had managed to unearth one of my favourite cups and saucers. And it was looseleaf Cream Earl Grey from a tea pot my nephew had given me ...)

The phone rang. "Coupl'a cows on the 855 ..."

I had to ask what the 855 was.

That was three years ago.

Now I know the 855 is the ribbon of road that ties those of us who live on it together. After three years I have not even met some of my neighbours face to face; but I know that if there is an animal out, everyone will make an effort to call. 

Now I know that boiling water, steeping tea and sipping it from a beautiful cup is a luxury reserved for a quiet evening when nothing else is going on. And there is never nothing else going on. A sturdy mug quickly filled with coffee is more practical and more available.

And that that cow - while a legitimate danger to itself and vehicles passing by - gives us an excuse to take a break for a few minutes and hear another voice. The cows; the weather; the road itself. When the connection is made, you don't want to hang up too soon. You don't want to cut the conversation short at the side of the road.

Other animals cross too, of course: deer, moose, rabbits, coyotes. They all make my heart pound with fear that I will hit one by not paying enough attention while I'm driving. That if I hit one I will injure it severely but not fatally - and how do you leave an animal to lie, suffering until it dies, on the side of the road? But how do you kill it, which could be the most merciful thing? I call it my Deer Fear. I have many scenarios.

There's the vehicle damage costs too. A little while ago I hit a deer, who bounced right up and kept on going; the vehicle was not so forgiving. The new grill guard and light added up to several thousand dollars, dollars set aside for something else in this tight economy ...

You wish you had someone to ask, someone to advise you as to the best thing to do.

And then, out of nowhere, someone shows up. One of those people you've made contact with through a phone call. Someone who always has time and patience and good counsel and the reassurance that all will be well. That we've all experienced a deer hit at one time or another. That the sick baby calf back in your barn you've been agonizing over has a good chance of making it. That if you need a cup of coffee, you're welcome to pop over at any time. That they are never too busy and no question is dumb. All will be well - just give it time.

And you get home to find a voicemail message from the other Jim: his branding is coming up. Oh, and be sure to bring Karyn.

In three years, I've come to realize that no one is truly self-sufficient. Cows on the road remind me of our frailty, of our need for one another.

Occasionally the cow call is the only outside contact of the day. It serves as a thread in the ribbon, a tangible signal that on this road punctuated with perpetual potholes and unresolved uncertainty, I am truly not alone.