The Cow 233 



really fragrant, very unlike their breath when 

 grazing red clover, or feeding down stubble 

 or aftermath. 



A prodigal son or daughter — otherwise a 

 stray — is not received by the herd when he 

 comes home as becomes a fatted calf. In- 

 stead, he is hustled and tussled mightily, 

 forced to his knees, beaten with many horn- 

 stripes, before he establishes himself upon 

 even a footing of toleration. Even more 

 curious is the way herd cattle fight among 

 themselves, when turned from a wonted pas- 

 ture eaten bare into one full of fat pickings. 

 The plenteous prospect seems to go to their 

 heads. At first they run all about, bleating 

 and bawling like so many hungry calves. 

 They snatch mouthfuls between bawls, then 

 all at once set to locking horns in twos and 

 threes, butting, pummelling, overthrowing, 

 rolling the overthrown along so violently 

 they seem in danger of broken bones. The 

 smaller and lighter the contestant, the greater 

 is his spirit. Two-year-olds scramble up, 

 bleating defiance at the big fellows who have 

 downed them, brandishing their horns mar- 

 tially, and pawing up earth all around. After 

 an hour or so, when every horn of them has 

 tried conclusions with every other horn, they 

 settle to steady feeding, and keep the peace 

 until the time of the next new pasture. 



