Hoof-Eye Coordination

A short essay on the inadequacies of being a cow.

It all started one afternoon while I was preparing to mow the back field. I have a Craftsman Commercial riding mower which I use to keep the grass level of the half acre down to a two-inch height. The mowed area borders five acres of cow field which pastures six cows, six calves, and a bull named Melvin. It was a typical polygamous family relationship with Melvin; all the cows and calves vying for his attention while he hides in the back of the barn drinking fermented cider.

On the northeast corner of the mowed field is an apple tree which, at this time of year, is dropping fruit onto the ground. Now, I could be lazy and mow over them, but I have found from prior experience that when the mower rides up on top of the apples, I lose directional control which has made me spill my coffee more than once. Also, when the apples go under the mower deck, the blades slice and dice them, scattering apple chips all over the lawn. My choice then is either to pick them up and place them in the dehydrator or leave them for the bunnies and the squirrels. I elected to pick the apples up off the ground prior to mowing.

As normally happens when I am close to the fence line, it attracts the cows. They get up from under their shade trees and saunter over to give me their advice. Even tipsy Melvin comes out of the barn to see what the commotion is all about.

My first thought was to put the apples in the wheelbarrow and dump them in the compost pit to let them rot, but that would require a few trips back and forth across the field. Then it occurred to me that the cows would love to eat the apples and they were only fifteen feet away.

I picked up four apples and tossed them underhanded at the cows. I don’t know what I was expecting, but they have no athletic ability whatsoever. The apples came down hitting them in the heads and on their backs as they just stood staring at me.

It’s been a while since I have been around small children but isn’t it common for a parent to start tossing a ball to a child at a young age to train them to catch? Some can catch before they can walk. A calf can walk two hours after birth and can nurse by itself and yet never learns how to catch an apple in its mouth. A cat can snag a flying bird out of the air and a dog can catch a Frisbee. What the heck is the matter with these cows?

It appears that cows have no hoof-eye coordination. You see, in a human being, the eyes lock in on a target which sends a signal through the cerebrum and cerebellum to the arms and hands. The eyes see a ball coming and the brain tells the hands and arms to move to catch it. In a dog, the eyes lock onto a Frisbee, the signal goes through the brain alerting the dog to leap, open his mouth and grab it in flight.

In theory then the cow should lock onto the apple with its eyes, move into the position of the downward arc of the tossed apple, open its mouth, and snag the apple out of the air. In all fairness, I hadn’t alerted the cows to the fact that I would be tossing apples to them. How could they be ready to catch?

I picked up four more apples from the ground. This time walking up to within ten feet, I held the apples in plain view. I also made it very clear that I would be tossing them.

“Ok, get ready. Open your mouth. This is going to be an easy underhand toss.”

I gently tossed the apples one at a time. One hit a cow between the eyes. One off the center of its nose. The other two bounced off their backs. And the cows just stood and watched me while they swung their tails at flies. They couldn’t even find the fruit on the ground at their feet.

I can see now why professional football and baseball teams refuse to use cows as their mascots. It wasn’t until I held an apple in front of a cow’s nose that its sandpaper tongue flopped out and scooped it into its mouth. In the animal world, this is comparable to the skill level of a child playing T-Ball. I finally filled the wheelbarrow with the apples from the ground and dumped them into the cow field. They enjoyed them immensely.

What can I then surmise about cows? They are completely missing the necessary link between the eyes and the rest of their body, namely the brain. This explains their one-word vocabulary, “moo.”

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