56 THE COW 



once heard must ever linger in our hearts, "The 

 lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea." Just on the 

 side, I am inclined to question the accuracy of the 

 poet's observation. In America, at least, cattle do 

 not spend much time lowing when at pasture. On 

 the whole they are silent beasts, whereas sheep 

 bleat long and loud under the slightest disturbance 

 or excitement. It is true that the cow separated 

 from her calf (more especially if reminded of the 

 separation by a painfully full udder) will some- 

 times low (in the speech of the farm, "beller" or 

 "bawl" ) most persistently. So also, if a part of the 

 herd has broken out into a forbidden field, those 

 still left behind will frequently lift up their voices 

 in frenzied inquiries as to just how it happened. A 

 high spirited uneasy bull confined in a stall may 

 make himself a nuisance by "the mimic thunder 

 in his cry" as he roars out his challenge to his 

 imaginary rival, but, on the whole, the contented 

 cow is dumb. 



"Wind slowly o'er the lea," however, is good 

 poetry and correct zoology. The old migratory 

 instinct of the wUd cow still survives and a herd 

 ranging in a good sized pasture covers it rather 

 widely and systematically under a recognized 

 leadership. A herd will commonly feed for a few 

 hours until full, and then lie down in a fairly com- 

 pact group to ruminate, and after an hour or two, 

 apparently in obedience to a common impulse, they 

 will get up and start for another part of the field. 



