Morning came, and the cattle numbers had swollen. A bull strode along a tangent to our camp, then turned and walked toward us. I felt it was time to face my fear. I walked toward him. He stopped. I held up my right hand and shouted, “My name is Jonathan, and I fear no cow!” (Note the insult contained in the use of the term “cow.”) He stared at me briefly, and then continued his advance. “Just kidding!” I added quickly, and hastened back to camp. Satisfied with my retreat, the bull walked away.
After almost 30 years in Tucson, I am still subject to bovine intimidation.
At this point, one might ask, “What’s with the cow fixation?” Well, it is a last link to my origins as Eastern Seaboard Blue State Spawn. I believe that when one moves to a different city, state or country, one should embrace its laws, culture, etc. If one does not wish to do so, then one should reconsider the move–does it make sense to bring with one that which one is leaving?
By the way, other factors, such as the reason for the move, or one’s origin, are not substantive. The principle applies to all immigrants, whether from Raleigh or Riyadh, Denver or Damascus, Wabash or Oaxaca.
So if you catch me overdressed or giving a cow an unusually wide berth (looking like those pasty-white fat guys from Chicago with the polo shirts, Bermuda shorts and overpriced athletic shoes), understand that I’m not an invader or would-be conquistador. I am just one of many immigrants from blue-state hell who is trying to do the right thing by my adopted home. I embrace our frontier culture of rugged individualism, freedom from pretense, acceptance of others–and cows.