The Cow Tipping Story
Sarah D. Steever
Disclaimer: I will tell you this is fiction. That is why it is the Cow Tipping Story. Under no circumstances do I condone ANY activity that takes place in the following text.
Late one gloomy Saturday night over a decade ago, four of my friends and I left a party in Troy, Idaho. We were all roughly 16, well aware that almost everything we’d done that night was frowned up by just about everyone. After a brief quarrel over shotgun, I was wedged in the back seat of the driver’s 1972 Chevy Nova between my boyfriend at the time & his best buddy. We were full of rowdy energy and were taking turns punching each other in the arm.
The driver, whom I will call “Driver”, announced he’d be taking the back roads into town to avoid any bored policemen (this is a redundant term out there). Back roads out of Troy Idaho are gravel at best. During the drive we regaled each other with stories, pranks we’d pulled, and future nefarious plans.
One of the stories that came out was from when my boyfriend & I had attempted cow tipping once before -unsuccessfully. This involved slamming shoulder-first full-tilt into a ton of bovine, mildly stunning us, and surprising the cow, who didn’t budge with the impact but lashed out with a hoof. I’m embarrassed to admit, we hadn’t been drinking that time. Ace (short for Acehole) in shotgun, gave us a brief lecture on what we did wrong, and how to properly tip cows. Everyone listened intently.
We drove, and drove, the gravel passing by noisily under the wheels, the rolling wheat fields barely discernable under the gray clouds. Darby suddenly came to a grinding halt atop a hill. My boyfriend & I disengaged & looked around, mildly annoyed.
Driver: “Heh, hey look you guys, A COW.”
I looked past Buddy out the passenger side window, sure enough, past the barbwire fence, at the bottom of the hill, motionless, broad side facing us was…a cow. We all exchanged glances, lit up with juvenile excitement and at once said “Yeeaaaaah!”
With no further words between us, we launched ourselves over the fence (miraculously avoiding the barbed wire), lined up, ran down the hill and palms first into the cow. Perfect! We turned around & scrambled back up the hill –because they chase you- trying not to die laughing.
A little ways up we looked back, momentum slowed & we stopped about halfway to the car. The cow was still lying there. We turned, facing downhill, waited. Nothing. Finally we cautiously started back down the hill. Sure enough, lying there, it’s eyes were open, it’s tongue hanging out a little, the cow was dead.
We stood for a moment in guilty silence; maybe it was already dead when we hit it, they die on their feet, right? I thought. “Oooooh shit. ” Says Buddy, his voice rising to a squeak “We are SOOO Dead! I know this farmer! That’s like $2000 worth of beef, man!”
Buddy glanced around with increasing panic “We gotta hide it!”
Ten minutes later found us with a stick, plastic cups and an Army shovel digging a grave for this cow.
The hole was about 18 inches deep when it started to rain, we began to sober up, and reason began to set in. “Dude, screw this, no one will know” I said, dropping my cup. There was mumbled agreement. The boys –now picture this- pushed the cow into the hole, legs sticking up & everything, threw some dirt on it and got the heck outta there.
We had left an inverted animal without a mark on it, was surrounded by a bunch of size 9 footprints, with earth sprinkels on top. Being a small town, It MADE THE PAPER. The behavior leading up to what they found was so incredibly stupid & beyond normal human reasoning that they never figured out what had happened.