These goofballs are from a farm across the road from where my relatives in Northern Ireland (formerly known as Ireland before the Queen took over…again. But that’s another story) live. By relatives I mean they are the children and grandchildren of the brother who didn’t get on the steamboat to New York in 1917 with his siblings, one of which was my great-grandfather. I have never met more hospitable, harder to understand people in my life. Anyways, they thought I was nuts for my love of cows as we drove around the counties. We stopped once on the way to the Giant’s Causeway so I could shoot (with my camera!) some black cows (photo later) but in order to feel satisfied I went off on my own to get some QT with the bovines. I crawled through the barbed wire and walked about halfway up the pasture; after staring at me, dumbfounded, for a few minutes, the cream guy that’s closest in the photo slooooowly started to waddle down the hill to say hello. I may have moo’ed a few times to let her know I was friend not foe. One by one they lumbered and trotted down the field until I had to climb back out of the barbed wire because the entire herd was up against the fence trying to figure out who and what I was. At one point, I was crouched down taking closeups directly behind the wire and this beefy, salt and pepper bull in the back decided it would be cute to mount the cow who was 6 inches away from me. I cannot tell you how hilariously terrifying it is to see 2000 lbs of meatiness coming up and over like some sort of, well, animal? Oh, the male species.