I took in the morning. The fog so thoroughly obscured the landscape that I felt like I was in a new world. When you have lived somewhere for some time, you become accommodated to your environment. I had stopped seeing with the eyes of a newcomer. It was only on days of extreme weather that I could still feel the wonder.
More than anything else, the trees took on an awesome dimension. Usually, trees seem to reach into the open sky. But this morning, in the thick fog, the trees appeared to be hanging in the air and reaching down to me.
I wasn’t the only one impressed by the shift in the atmosphere, but Freddie didn’t seem to like it so much. She needs at least two walks a day, even when the weather is unpleasant or extreme. She becomes restless otherwise. The barking can actually be painful.
She protested a lot when I put her harness on, but she is a very good dog. She trusts me. Together, we exited my front garden and stepped into the fog.
Opposite my house, there is a large open field. It extends out into endless miles of countryside. Most farmers allow you on their land, provided you stick to the designated footpaths. If there is no path they usually let you walk around the edges.
The first field has a public footpath right through the middle. Often we find there are livestock (cows or sheep) in this field, so we usually stick to the path. At the end of the track, there are three stiles. The one to the right takes us to our favourite field. There are gates on all sides and no animals. This means I can let Fred off of her lead and she can run around freely. She likes to have a good run in the morning.
When we stepped out into the first field we could see maybe 25 metres all around us. Anything beyond that receded into obscurity. This made me a little nervous because I couldn’t tell if the cows were in the field or not. Freddie and I had a little incident a few weeks back with the cows.
One of them seemed to think we were there to feed them. Mostly I like cows. They are naturally inquisitive and have sweet eyes. This cow in particular was very intrigued by us and pursued us relentlessly. Something about this seemed to spook the other cows and more appeared. I felt uncomfortable but I continued to walk with Fred happily bouncing away next to me. The next time I turned my head to look I saw to my very-genuine horror, all the cows in the field running downhill, charging at me and Fred.
For those of you that don’t live in the countryside you should know, there are many deaths by trampling each year. Often dog walkers. The thing you must do is let your dog run. They will be fine. They are much faster and nimbler than cows. It is you, the human, who is in danger.
Fred and I were fortunate. We had been headed downhill, and cows struggle to maintain such high speeds on gradients like that one. Their knees are not built for it at all. With this knowledge, I knew I had time to run to the bottom of the field and make it back to the entrance. Bless Fred, I don’t think she had a clue. She was just happy to run.
Not being able to see the cows in today’s fog put me slightly on edge. But we made it to the stiles without an incident. At this end of the field, we could scarcely see 10 metres ahead. I wondered why Fred was so bothered by the fog. Dogs seem to use their noses and ears more than their eyes anyway.
Crossing over into our favourite field, I let her off the lead. She seemed hesitant to leave my side. I sat down next to her. The grass was wet. I wanted to let her know it was alright. We sat there together for a while.
When she was young, I taught her to give paw. To this day, when she needs my attention or is trying to make some kind of communication with me she offers me her paw.
She gave me her paw to hold in that field and leant her head in the resting spot between my elbow and forearm. I knew she was feeling uneasy but I needed her to get a good run in before we went back home. It wouldn’t do to have her barking all day as she can. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s best for her.
I picked up a stick and coaxed her into playing a game of fetch with me.
Gradually, I threw the stick further and further. Fred seemed less tense, once I got her adrenaline going. She brought me back the stick and this time I really threw that thing. She shot off, bouncing from left to right in that funny way she does, bouncing until she too was engulfed by the fog.
I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her running around and panting a lot. I thought maybe she couldn’t find the stick. She did seem to be getting agitated by something. I could hear her running in strange directions all around me. I called out to her. She was nowhere near where I had thrown the stick. I called out to her again. Her bark was very distant. She had gone too far, and soon would be lost in the fog.
I had been stupid. I got her all worked up, she had run off and now we were apart from each other. She couldn’t see me. She probably couldn’t hear me either, the fog was dampening the sounds. Why did I encourage her to go run around like that? That was really, really stupid. And now I would have to wander around this murky landscape looking for her. It could take quite some time.
I heard her again.
She didn’t bark this time. It wasn’t a sound she made often at all. It was a clipped yelp. A pained cry. Had something bad happened? It was far away, somewhere in the first field maybe.
I called out to Fred, told her I was coming, and I ran.
The fog was almost the only thing I could see. But, I knew these fields very well. I thought she must have hurt herself somehow, and that I needed to find her. My hands found the top of the stile and I quickly clambered over. I almost slipped over a little but caught myself in time. Panic was not going to help. I tried to steady my mind as well.
She had left the other field. She had somehow come into this one. I had heard her over there. What now?
I called again. No response. Freddie was fine. She was fine.
I kept walking in the direction that I thought she was. It was swampy off of the path. There had been large rainfall recently. The cows had churned the field into mud. My feet were being sucked down, and it was getting harder to pull them out without the mud taking my shoes also.
I was looking around, trying to spot some dry ground when I saw the first one. A rotting cow. Flesh and bone somehow inverted. The ribcage sat on top of the sinew, protecting it like an exoskeleton. The unprotected stomach, however, was being picked apart by crows. It was spilling out and mixing with the swampy water in the mud. In between the birds, I glimpsed the inside of the cow, filled with writhing and convolving larvae.
I did not stop to have a good think about what was going on. I did not go up for a closer inspection. No, I fucking ran. I fucking bolted. I left with such force I pulled my left foot right out of its shoe, leaving it behind, stuck in the mud.
As I ran through the field, I saw briefly 3 more cows in a similar state, I took generous detours around them and they disappeared into the grey void.
I was lost. I had run in many strange directions since I saw the first poor cow. Fortunately, I had found solid ground to stand on. A moment to get my bearings. I turned to my right. There was nothing I could see that indicated where I was. I turned to my left and let out my own cry.
There, looming toward me was a bull. His eyes were open and misty.
Patches of his hide had worn away, revealing the tender muscle structure of his head. Some of the sinew and muscle seemed to have fallen off, in these cavities the white bone of his skull. His body had also undergone the disgusting inversion I had seen on the other dead cows. His guts and organs were swinging under his belly, and with every step he took, another little piece of viscera fell off into the mud. He was very alive. He lowered his head, maintaining eye contact as if he was going to charge.
In that split second, I ran through my options in my mind. If this were an ordinary bull showing aggression, I would not have the advantage. The ground here was flat, whatever running speed I could reach, an ordinary bull would likely double, and in half the time. I suspected, however, that this twisted bull was a little incapacitated. I could try to run, but I didn’t know where the nearest stile was, and the ground was marshy in places - another advantage to the bull.
I decided my best option was to make myself very large, to shout and scream in a way that might intimidate the creature. I put my arms up outstretched and made harsh loud noises I hadn’t known I was capable of making. The bull was unperturbed. It kicked a leg back, in preparation for its charge.
Perhaps I should have run in the first place. But I ran now, as fast as I could, trying to side-step the monstrosity. I figured if it had to turn again to start its charge in another direction, then that would buy me some seconds. Another mistake.
The bull simply turned, jerking its head and body at me, a glancing blow, but it knocked me to the ground. I tried to drag myself away and made it onto the soft marshy ground, but it brought one of its front legs down on my right elbow, splattering me with muddy water and dirt, shooting sharp pain up and down my arm.
I screamed. I could hardly see. The pain was blinding and there was mud in my eyes. But I could make out well enough what was about to happen. The bull was rearing. Ready to strike a final blow. I closed my eyes.
What happened next I can only make sense of now. At the time I heard a terrible snarling. The sound of tearing flesh. And then I felt the full weight of the bull on my body and lost consciousness.
I knew that some time had passed. For a while, I wasn’t sure if I was alive at all. Then I heard a steady breathing. I thought perhaps I was on the verge of death. Only I seemed to be getting more lucid. My thoughts less abstract. After a while, I even managed to separate what was me, from what was external. The breathing was not my own. It was warm. It was over my head. It was.
Fred?
I opened my eyes. She was over me. Keeping watch. One paw on my head. I managed to say her name hoarsely and she looked down. She licked me. Her tongue was soft. She had blood on her face. I wanted to get up. To check if she was okay. But, there was a weight on my body stopping me from moving. I bent my neck. There was the upper half of the bull, lying across my torso and legs. It was very dead. Its throat had been ripped out, creating a cavernous space in its neck. The bull’s eyes were open. Unmoving. I wanted to be sick.
Fred seemed pretty relaxed given the circumstances. She had a considerable amount of blood on her. Me too. I asked her if she was okay and she just pawed at me again. She was a good girl.
I tried to slide out from under the bull. I couldn’t put pressure on my right arm. So, I pulled myself out with my left. I was in a bad way. Fucked up arm. Missing shoe. Covered in blood.
The fog was receding, but I couldn’t see the path. It hardly mattered anyway. Fred walked just in front of me. She knew the way home.
The mist is still thick this evening. We have locked all the doors and windows. Fred has been given a double portion of her dinner, but unfortunately for her, I don’t think we will go out for a walk tomorrow.