“Gene, why is that cow crying so much?” I asked.

“Jean, I don’t know? Why is that cow crying so much?” my husband responded.

“Well,” I huffed, “You obviously don’t care that some cow around here is very sad.”

Some poor creature had been bawling all day long like its heart would break and it was tearing me up.

“How can you ignore it?” I sputtered, because by dinnertime I had had it. “Gene, listen to me! Some cow is in big trouble. How do you know it’s not one of ours?”

“Because Jean, it’s coming from across the road,” he tossed at me.

But, giving up, he finally put his nursing book down and said, “Oh, all right, Jean sweety, I’ll go see.”

He was gone maybe 10 minutes and when he came back in, he said evenly, “It’s not one of ours and I couldn’t even find her. She’s probably just lonesome.”

“Just lonesome!” I cried.

Being a writer and sensitive and with a big imagination and all, I got to thinking about this poor cow somewhere huddled against a fence, lonely and bawling.

Sighing deeply, I got up, put my coat on and went out to find her. I could not.

Night fell and I was glad. Darkness seemed to blanket things somehow to hush us for awhile and, sure enough, the crying stopped.

We ate dinner and settled down to watch a movie when all of the sudden this truck zoomed up our driveway and headed straight to our upper field.

Before we could get out there, though, the truck turned around and zoomed out to the road again.

“What in the world was that?” I asked Gene as if he knew anything more than I did.

“I don’t know, but they’re coming back,” Gene said while heading for the back door again.

The driver of the truck was our neighbor. He stopped to say, “Listen, there’s a black heifer running up and down Flanagan Station Road bawling and we don’t know who she belongs to.”

We both took out running down our driveway behind the truck, though, for the life of me, I don’t have the slightest idea what we thought we could do on foot.

Gene must have realized the same thing and ran back to get our green truck. But I, caught up in the drama, continued to run behind the truck.

I got out on Flanagan Station Road and here came this large, young black heifer, barreling as fast as she could, with eyes wild, nose snorting and tail flying.

I braked to a full halt thinking, “And what if she turns right, right where I’m standing at the base of our driveway?”

And she would have done exactly that except that here came Gene, flying down our driveway in our truck, headlights freezing that poor girl in her tracks. She took one look at the bright headlight, lit out through our right field which runs parallel to our driveway and ran straight up to our barn.

It all happened so fast but I swear, this is true. As she flew by me, I could hear her saying, “Here I come big boy. Wait for meeeee!”

I recognized her voice hoarse from bawling all day long. Why, she had been pining away for the love and attention of our handsome new black bull up behind our barn.

It all became crystal clear to me.

The thing is, she did live across the road, too far away to ever see our bull. But baby, let me tell you, she knew he was up there and exactly where to find him. How, I do not know.

It was love at first sight. All of us ran behind her fleeing rear end up the field to the barn. We flung open the gate for her because it was absolutely clear that she had jumped one fence to get to this handsome guy and she would have no hesitation about jumping another one if necessary.

It was embarrassingly clear they planned to make a night of it so we decided to give them their privacy.

“Tomorrow,” we said, “We will take her home again.”

Ain’t love grand.

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in the Sun for more than 25 years.