Cow

When Marvin woke up that morning, the first thing he noticed was the strange silence.

He was used to silence – living in the country, surrounded by farmland, he had no choice but to get used to it. He peeked through the blinds - there were no birds twittering in the cornfield across the road, no squirrels playing in the tree outside his window.

He shrugged and stretched and let out an exaggerated yawn. Usually, a good loud yawn would bring Woody out from his sleeping spot under the bed, but the dog didn’t come out.

“Woody?” Marvin called. “Where are you?”

Lifting the bedskirt, he saw Woody’s little black nose and big brown eyes looking back at him.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Marvin said. “Ain’t ya comin’ out?”

The dog just stared at him blankly, and then just laid his head on his paws.

“Suit yourself,” Marvin said.

After finishing his morning routine, getting dressed, and heading downstairs to get the coffee on, Marvin jiggled the dogs leash by the front door. Normally it would bring Woody scrambling out from whatever hiding spot he was in.

But not that day.

Woody peered down at Marvin from the top of the stairs.

“Woody? What’s the matter with you? Come on – let’s go for our walk.”

He went down on his haunches and slapped his thighs. Woody slowly came down the stairs and rested his chin on one of Marvin’s knees.

“What’s up, buddy? You sick?” He patted Woody’s head and scratched his ears. “Do we need to go to the vet?”

When he clipped the leash to the dogs’ collar, Woody became anxious. Instead of scratching at the door, eager for their morning walk, Woody tried to pull Marvin down the hall and into the kitchen. He strained with all his might to pull Marvin away from the door, and it was a few minutes before Marvin could get Woody under control. Even then, the dog was quaking, with his tail tucked between his legs.

“Oh yeah,” Marvin said. “We’re definitely going to the vet.”

For the first time in their five-year relationship, Woody let Marvin leave the house first.



The quiet outside was a bit unnerving, and Woody’s skittish behavior didn’t do much to help that. Marvin was worried. Woody was normally such an energetic, rambunctious dog. He’d never seen Woody so… scared.

At the end of the street was the cow pasture. They went there every morning to watch the cows trudge back and forth behind their fence. Woody loved to bark at them.

But as they got within fifty yards of the pasture, Woody dug his heels in, refusing to budge.

“Woody, for God’s sake!” Marvin pulled. “Come on! We’re gonna go see the cows!”

Frustrated, Marvin scooped the dog up and walked him towards the pasture. Woody whined and struggled to break free, but Marvin read a magazine article once that said you should never give in to a willful dog. You have to show a dog who’s boss. So, despite Woody’s pleas for escape, Marvin carried the dog until they reached the fence.

Quite suddenly, Marvin realized what Woody was so upset about.

There were cows laying all over the pasture, throats torn open and gory scraps of innards scattered all over the field. The metallic odor of fresh blood conspired with the scent of manure to make Marvin retch.

Woody buried his face in Marvin’s shirt and whimpered, no longer struggling to be let down. At the far edge of the field, Marvin noticed a streak of movement that seemed like a cow. It was actually several cows, six of them. They came towards the fence at a brisk walk, their faces and forequarters caked in blood. They were obviously survivors of the bloody massacre that had occurred earlier.

However, as Marvin watched them come closer, he came to the horrifying realization that these cows weren’t survivors of the massacre – they were the cause of it. Marvin held Woody tightly, and nearly screamed when one of the cows bared a set of bloody cat-like teeth and bit into the flank of one of the corpses in the field. The cow shook its head until a chunk came loose. With the bloody mess hanging from its mouth, the cow looked Marvin in the eye.

Clutching Woody and swallowing a scream, Marvin turned to run, only to face another cow with bloody razor teeth. Woody barked and howled, but it was useless.

Snapping forward at impossible speed, the cow tore into Marvin’s neck and snatched Woody away in one swift and savage bite.

As Marvin lay dying, struggling to stop the blood from rushing out of his carotid artery, listening to the terrified shrieks of his dog as he was eaten alive, he had one thought.

“No vet today, buddy. No vet today.”