Posted on 02/25/2018 3:26:56 PM PST by BBell
A runaway cow that avoided captivity for weeks died Thursday after it was caught and put on a truck to be taken to a farm, a local official said.
The red Limousin beef cow fled Jan. 23 as it was to be transported to a slaughterhouse. It gained celebrity status as it defended its life and freedom, tricking searchers, swimming from island to island and roaming a lake-filled region near Nysa, in southwestern Poland.
(Excerpt) Read more at abcnews.go.com ...
Poor thing. I read about this runaway cow last week.
Someone caught it last week, but only briefly.The animal broke that person’s arms and got away.
I thought they were going to allow the animal to stay on that little piece of deserted island for now. I guess the owner didn’t want to be outsmarted by a very bold cow.
That doesn't sound like stress to me. It sounds like more dog food tainted with barbiturates.
Chickens in choppers!
Fat and docile, big and dumb
They look so stupid, they aren’t much fun
Cows aren’t fun
They eat to grow, grow to die
Die to be et at the hamburger fry
Cows well done
Nobody thunk it, nobody knew
No one imagined the great cow guru
Cows are one
He hid in the forest, read books with great zeal
He loved Che Guevera, a revolutionary veal
Cow Tse Tongue
He spoke about justice, but nobody stirred
He felt like an outcast, alone in the herd
Cow doldrums
He mooed we must fight, escape or we’ll die
Cows gathered around, cause the steaks were so high
Bad cow pun
But then he was captured, stuffed into a crate
Loaded onto a truck, where he rode to his fate
Cows are bummed
He was a scrawny calf, who looked rather woozy
No one suspected he was packing an Uzi
Cows with guns
They came with a needle to stick in his thigh
He kicked for the groin, he pissed in their eye
Cow well hung
Knocked over a tractor and ran for the door
Six gallons of gas flowed out on the floor
Run cows run!
He picked up a bullhorn and jumped up on the hay
We are free roving bovines, we run free today
We will fight for bovine freedom
And hold our large heads high
We will run free with the Buffalo, or die
Cows with guns
They crashed the gate in a great stampede
Tipped over a milk truck, torched all the feed
Cows have fun
Sixty police cars were piled in a heap
Covered in cow pies, covered up deep
Much cow dung
Black smoke rising, darkening the day
Twelve burning McDonalds, have it your way
We will fight for bovine freedom
And hold our large heads high
We will run free with the Buffalo, or die
Cows with guns
The President said “enough is enough
These uppity cattle, its time to get tough”
Cow dung flung
The newspapers gloated, folks sighed with relief
Tomorrow at noon, they would all be ground beef
Cows on buns
The cows were surrounded, they waited and prayed
They mooed their last moos,
they chewed their last hay
Cows outgunned
The order was given to turn cows to whoppers
Enforced by the might of ten thousand coppers
But on the horizon surrounding the shoppers
Came the deafening roar of chickens in choppers
We will fight for bovine freedom
And [E]hold our large heads high
We will run free with the Buffalo, or die
Cows with guns
Birdy Birdy in the sky
You who drop whitewash in my eye
Am I sad?
No Not I!
Only glad that cows can’t fly.
Prolly just tired of the rat race and wanted her space. Elsie was a simple country cow. You might say a cockeyed optimist, who got herself mixed up in the high stakes game of world diplomacy and international intrigue.
Running away, while chanting “Eat Mor Chikin” repeatedly, didn’t help that cow at all.
Well, at least she died fighting.
Done in by do-gooders... boy does that sound failiar.
familiar
Some years back, I was driving my MG Midget out Route 122 in Massachusetts, where it meets with Route 202 on my way to Amherst to meet some friends.
It was probably mid-September at 4 AM, and so foggy you had to do about 20 mph. Couldn’t see a thing.
As I come up to Route 202, I have the windows open, and there is a single streetlight at the intersection (completely rural area, only an occasional house) and the cone of the streetlight cuts through the fog imparting a yellowish tinge to it. I stop on the hill a the “T” in the road, and I hear...a cowbell.
Out there in the dark, I can hear a “Clank-clank-clank” but I can’t see anything. Then I hear clopping Like some kind of ethereal cow-being, a cow, with a cowbell clanking, comes galloping into the cone of the streetlight on my left. With a purpose all of its own, it takes a right onto the road I am on, clops by me at a fast cow-trot, and disappears into the gloom behind me, clanking all the way!
Didn’t pay me the slightest bit of attention. It looked like it had someplace to be, and was just...getting there the way any self-respecting cow would do...taking Route 202!
...it was to be transported to a slaughterhouse. It gained celebrity status as it defended its life and freedom, tricking searchers, swimming from island to island and roaming a lake-filled region near Nysa, in southwestern Poland.
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