Livestock.

When I take the babies for a walk in our super-duper BOB stroller that cost more than my first car, I tend to bring a hammer along. For protection. Just in case. I think it's a hormonal thing. I used to go walking and running pre-babies totally hammer-less. But now. Babies. MY babies. What I lack in stature, I like to think I make up for in scrappiness. And innovation in weaponry choices, apparently.

And if I had to, I would use it.

I probably won't have to.

I realized this the other day when getting ready to take the babies out for a little stroll. I also realized that 1. I have an active imagination and 2. Imagination + hammer + willingness to use it, may = trouble.

In an effort to avoid having to leave our neighbors a note to the tune of, Dear Neighbors...I apologize for throwing a hammer at your dog. I thought she was a bear! Oopsies. Should we BBQ sometime? I decided that perhaps I should wean myself from the hammer. Immediately.

So we walked, hammer-less.

And really, at first, it was fine. The sky was blue, the birds chirping, and the teensiest wisp of fall hanging in the background.

But then we approached one of the several farms on our road. And I should take a moment here to explain that I live in the country. Grew up here. This does not, however, necessarily mean that I am a country-girl. For instance, and please do not laugh, I am terrified of horses. Because JEE-SHUSH. Look at those things. It's not just horses. I lack a general trust of bugs, dogs, and wildlife in general. Animals can sense my fear.

I pushed the stroller along the road, attempting to be absolutely casual as I scoped out what sort of farm-stuff might be hanging out in the field. Two cows. This I can handle. Cows, I am not so much afraid of. Like I am supposed to be intimidated by their ferocious moos. Feeling bold, I kind of threw my shoulders back and did a little "I can totally walk without a hammer" swagger.

And maybe that's what pissed them off. Because all of a sudden, these peaceful bovines charged their rickety fence. Cow-bells jingling, they did a sort of moo-growl and snorted steam out of their noses and flickered the fires of hell in their big ol' brown cow eyes. And they charged the fence again. And again.

I picked up my pace, thinking to myself, "I bet I should not run. I bet I should not run" and then I started running, pushing our massive stroller and startled babies in a DANGER! DANGER! kind of way. And then the cows started running too.

When cows run, the earth shakes. And their beastly hooves go CALLUMP! CALLOMP! And did I mention that these cows were sporting horns?

I ran until I could not run anymore. It is not easy to maintain a sprint while wearing Birkenstocks and pushing a double stroller down a bumpy dirt road and constantly looking over your shoulder to see if one of the Cows of Doom has broken through the fence yet to recreate the running of the bulls here in my very own neighborhood.

And all I can keep thinking is "I'm lactating too, bitch" like that really matters but it's the only thing I can think of that me and these cows have in common and perhaps we should all just go about our day in a peaceful manner and GOD are they lucky I don't have my hammer with me.

But then we have passed by them and hammer or no hammer, we're all safe and intact.

And don't you go thinking that I then was so shook-up that I turned us all around and retreated home. No sirree. Cause that would have meant doubling back past the Cows of Doom and Hell Fire and Poisonous Rattlesnake Venom all over again and NO WAY was I about to do that.

No, we took a nice long walk. Nice and long with fresh air and sunshine and the knowledge that those cows would have to go back inside sometime. And they did. And we went home.

Incidentally, I'm taking the babies for walk in just a couple minutes. Coming with us? My trusty little hammer.