Dog and Devil Cows Along the SHADOWS on the TRAIL

Figure One - Sheila, my nemesis, the orange and white Corriente cow 
that first attacked Madd Maxx and me.

Dedicated to Madd Maxx

Born 2-28-2009

Died 6/17/2022

I wrote my prehistoric book series the SHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy based on my knowledge, experience, and research in archaeology, hunting, and animal/human behavior. I have spent countless days out on the prairie and hills doing my research – finding prehistoric artifacts, watching and recording animal behavior, and creating scenarios in my head, such as the one below, taken from the second book of the pentalogy, GHOSTS of the HEART. In this scenario, hunters from the Folsom tribe are trapping a herd of bison. As you might guess, that was a perilous activity. I will see you on the other side of this passage from my book GHOSTS of the HEART.       

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Chayton knelt with Hoka on top of the hill, patiently waiting for the last of the cows and calves to enter the arroyo. When the last of the tatanka [bison] entered the arroyo, he signaled a hunter on another hillside. Chayton had wanted the tatanka bull in the trap, but it was not going to happen. The hunters would just leave him alone. There was too much risk attacking the bull on the open prairie. The hunt would be more than successful with the cows and the calves. Chayton would let the last of the herd get to the wakan ya [sacred  spring] and start drinking before he signaled the attack.

“WANA! – NOW!” Chayton bellowed and the hunters sprung the trap. A hunter signaled Tah and Wiyaka who lit their torches and then raced to the arroyo with the other hunters. The hunters arrived at the wooden fence and dropped more deadwood in the gap between the two sides of the arroyo. The hunters then picked up a large log that was lying behind the fence and set it down across the top of the fence. They had sealed the herd into the arroyo, but it would take fire to hold the herd. Tah looked up and saw that the tatanka bull had already taken off running, abandoning his herd. Tah and Wiyaka threw the torches on the wooden fence and it erupted into flames. Smoke rose as the flames burned into the green sagebrush, creating a huge smokescreen. The smoke signaled Chayton and the other hunters to attack. Carrying large bundles of spears, the hunters ran up to both sides of the arroyo and began heaving spears at the unwary herd. The herd milled around the wakan ya, confused by the spears and the smoke.

A rain of spears fell on the herd from three sides of the arroyo. Spears stuck in the hides of the cows and calves as the herd panicked and attempted to climb the steep walls of the arroyo. Without a leader, the herd muddled about while more spears poured down on them from above. Finally, one of the cows ran back down the arroyo towards the entrance and the rest of the herd followed…

Dangerous business, wouldn't you agree? A prehistoric hunter severely injured by a bison was almost worse off than if he died. Depending on the severity of the injury, there may have been little the tribe could do. Analyses of injuries on prehistoric skeletons showed that medical treatment was quite limited, as one might expect. A severe injury in prehistoric times pretty much healed on its own or it did not heal. There are forensic records from prehistoric skeletons that showed that some injuries festered for years. 

Severe injuries created a burden on the tribe because now the people had to care for and feed the injured party, drawing from resources the tribe may or may not have had. Recovery from serious injuries such as broken bones took a long time if recovery ever took place in the first place. 

Figure Two - A size comparison between modern bison and Bison antiquus, the bison species that existed in my SHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy.   

I experienced a traumatic event on December 3, 2016. My faithful dog Madd Maxx and I were artifact hunting on the original SHADOWS on the TRAIL prehistoric site when a herd of Corriente cattle decided they did not like sharing the pasture with Madd Maxx. An orange and white horned cow attacked Madd Maxx, lifting the hundred-pound dog off the ground with her horns. I interceded on my German Shepherd's behalf by swatting the cow between her ears with my walking stick, thinking that she would surely retreat. After all, I was a superior species. I was dead wrong. 

The orange and white horned cow rammed me in the chest with her big head. I grabbed her horns, thinking I could bulldog her. That was a laugh. I twisted back and forth on her horns and could not budge her one way or the other. That was when I realized I had another problem. The devil cow was shoving me backward across the pasture, and she was picking up speed. I recognized that this was not going to end well for me, so I let go of her horns. The devil cow ran right over the top of me. The impact of the ground and her hooves knocked the wind right out of me. That hurt and I battled to catch my breath! I staggered to my feet and before I could turn around to see where the devil cow was, she plowed into my back, knocking me to the ground on my face. I still remember the intensity of the pain as if the incident happened yesterday. I crawled away, but she was on top of me, pinning me to the ground with her head and flailing away at my sides with her horns. Thankfully, I was wearing a backpack filled with extra winter clothes. It shielded me from even more damage. The devil cow ended up destroying that backpack. I had a walking stick when I started the ordeal. She destroyed that as well. Dust rose up over the prairie as the cattle herd went on a rampage. 

While the devil cow was making mincemeat of me, I heard Madd Maxx off in the distance growling and barking and whimpering. I figured he had his own dilemma. I recall feeling relieved that my faithful dog was still alive, and I knew that if I wanted to save him, I first had to save myself. I tried to stand up and reached my knees. I yelled for help but there was no one remotely close to where we were. My shout sounded more like a whisper. Try yelling with the air crushed out of your lungs. I found out later that the devil cow had broken three of my ribs. From behind me, she knocked me flat, and I crawled on my elbows to escape. The devil cow was on top of me, clobbering me with her horns and hooves. I remember hearing her breathe in my ear and watching her horns thrash me out of my peripheral vision. I stopped trying to get away, and I wrapped my arms around my head to protect my skull from her assault. 

As a side note, I grew up in a small agricultural town in Wyoming, a state where cattle outnumber people. Every summer from junior high through college, I worked on farms and ranches, so cattle and their behavior were familiar to me. I had never seen a herd of cows in a wide-open pasture behave this way.   

Lying there in the dirt and manure with the devil cow mauling me, I was positive this was the end for me. I was going to die. I had zero doubt! I remember thinking how it would look if I "died by cow". We all have to die sometime, that is indisputable. I understand all that, but come on, death by bovine? Who would ever believe it? 

I was wheezing as my lungs pleaded for oxygen! My fractured ribs felt like someone had impaled me with a spear! While the half-ton beast held me against the ground, she gored me with her horns and stepped all over my back and legs with her sharp hooves. The burning and throbbing pain were unbearable. I was bleeding all over the pasture. I had never experienced anything like this in my entire life. 

Figure Three - Madd Maxx, my best friend, ever recuperating at home in 2017.

The orange and white devil cow was not going to be happy until I was a dead smudge on the prairie, so I decided to cooperate with her. I played dead. The horned beast pawed at me with her hooves, trying to roll me over, but I laid there on my stomach anchored to the ground with my arms wrapped tightly around my skull. Her horn ripped my pants leg from ankle to crotch. Still, I laid there. She walked all over my legs, ankles, and back. Every time she stood on me, it hurt like hell, but I did not move. I was suffocating from the dust and blood and cow manure covered me from head to toe, but I did not move. My acting eventually paid off and the devil cow left me for dead on the prairie.

As I lay there in agony, I heard Madd Maxx whining and yelping. That was a good omen, he was still alive, barely alive. With all the effort my tortured body could muster, I rose to my knees. The pain was ungodly. My mangled left leg would not straighten up. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I knew that if I did not move now, I would never move. I saw Madd Maxx standing in the middle of swirling cows. It reminded me of one of those old western movies where the Indians on horseback circled the wagon train. I crawled to Madd Maxx, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him away from the cows. 

Madd Maxx was in bad shape. He was bleeding heavily from his mouth and he had patches of matted bloody fur across most of his body. He was defeated. We were both defeated. We crawled to the outskirts of the herd and stopped. My entire body was in pain and I could not breathe. Every time I took a breath, my broken ribs punished my effort. I was choking on the dust, and I could not walk. I wasn't even sure I could crawl all the way to the vehicle. The shredded backpack still clung to my back by one ripped strap. Madd Maxx sat next to me, whimpering from pain.  

Then, something happened that I still cannot believe. The herd that just leveled us, lined up in front of us. The big orange and white devil cow stood five feet away from Madd Maxx and me, glaring at us while nonchalantly chewing her cud. Her eyes showed no anger or malice. I assumed she was there to finish the job. I commanded Madd Maxx to run for our vehicle and he obeyed me lickety-split, without a moment of hesitation. He limped toward the vehicle which I had earlier parked in the other pasture. He never looked back. He ran right through the gaps in the barbed wire fence, never slowing down. The wire strands popped as the big brute hit them. He was safely behind barbed wire. Now, it was my turn. I wobbled to my feet, screaming bloody murder because of the intensity of the pain. The orange and white demon lowered her head and plowed into me, slamming me to the ground. That was when I blacked out.  

I have no idea how long I laid in that pasture. I lost track of time. When I woke up, I was hurting and freezing. The air temperature had dropped dramatically. After all, this was northern Colorado in December. Severely injured, I would never survive a night out on the prairie. I crawled to the vehicle, oftentimes stopping to let the pain subside. I dragged my mangled left leg behind me. I opened the back hatch of the SUV and Madd Maxx struggled to get in. It took me a while to get behind the wheel of the vehicle. I thought seriously about driving myself to the hospital some seventy-five miles away, but the pain was too much so I took my chances and drove to the ranch house. I had no idea whether the ranchers were home or not. The sun was low in the southwestern sky. I remember I wore sunglasses and as I drove to the ranch house, I noticed that one of the lenses was missing. The odd things a person remembers. I honked my horn to alert the ranchers, opened the driver's door, and collapsed onto the ground. They called for help and covered me with blankets. My main concern was getting help for Madd Maxx. I did not want him to die.   

A local volunteer fire/rescue crew showed up. Laying prostrate, I asked one of the firemen if he had anything for my pain. He told me they were not authorized to carry medications. I should have known that since I was a volunteer firefighter. I heard the ranch foreman speaking in an almost whisper to a fireman. He was describing to the fireman how much blood there was in the pasture. It sounded like he was describing a murder scene. He did not realize I was listening. An hour or so later I heard a helicopter circling the ranch house, searching for a place to land. The paramedics transported me to the landing zone in some kind of vehicle and then jetted me off to a respected trauma center in Colorado. I ended up with three broken ribs; internal bleeding; bruised and damaged lungs, liver, and kidneys; and a leaky adrenal gland. The lower half of my body was heavily bruised and swollen beyond recognition. I had several deep contusions on both legs where the cow stepped on me repeatedly. My teeth were loose (I eventually lost one of them). Every muscle in my body screamed out in pain. It took well over a month for me to graduate from a walker to a cane. 

Thanks to my wife Theresa and the ranch foreman, Madd Maxx ended up in an animal emergency room for treatment of serious cuts and bruises and broken teeth, but no broken bones.  

I hate to admit it, but Madd Maxx and I were very lucky. 

It could have been a lot worse.    

Figure Four - While the orange and white demon cow mauled me, the

other cows fought with Madd Maxx. This is what Madd Maxx contended with. 

I had a first-hand experience of the danger of large prey animals, even if they were “domesticated cattle”. Would I have survived these injuries twelve thousand years ago without Flight for Life or excellent care at a leading trauma center? Doubtful. If I survived, I would have been a burden to the tribe. I took this experience and wrote about it in my most recent prehistoric thriller, CROW and the CAVE, the fourth book in my prehistoric adventure series the SHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy. Check out the book series and see what life was like over twelve thousand years ago.   

By the way, here is some sage advice,  

Stay away from devil cows!      

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