One day, when things were too lonely to suit me, I wandered into the pasture where my grandfather’s beef cows were penned. I wanted to pet one of the new calves that looked so sweet as it stood on wobbly legs in the grassy field. What a mistake that was! I managed to get between the cow and her new calf and reached out to touch the calf. I was immediately run down and then tossed headfirst by that big, maddened bovine mama, through the barbed wire fence. Blood immediately began to stream and I slumped down, screaming. My mother found me with blood gushing from my mouth. One barb from the fence had torn completely through my tongue, and others had left me with numerous deep scratches on my arms and legs. A trip to the local doctor for stitches in my tongue was required. Until many years later, while a student at Rutgers University School of Agriculture in New Brunswick, New Jersey, it was the last time I ever tried to get near cows in a field. I figured it was safer to be near the cows when they were fastened up in the stanchions in the milking parlor.