Last weekend we took advantage of a friend's offer to use a chalet in the mountains, and we escaped from our tiny apartment for a few days. The chalet is in a town called Chateau d'Oex, which is a pretty sleepy town, but in a beautiful mountain valley near the ski-town of Gstaad. On Saturday, we took a short, panaromic train from Chateau d'Oex to Gstaad and spent a few hours walking around the super ritzy village. Even though there is probably only about 2,000 people in Gstaad, the main drag features stores like Prada, Burberry, Hermes and Cartier. Nicole's drooling problem became an issue at this point, so we left quickly before our savings vanished. After a very early night, Mason and I decided to take a gondola to the top of a nearby peak to do some hiking. Exercising my typical lack of good judgment, I decided we should hike back down from the top of the mountain. All was going well at first, and Mason was really enjoying our descent. I tried to teach Mason to spot and avoid cow-pies along the way, but despite this, Mason still ended up stepping up to his ankle in a huge, fresh cow-pie about half-way down the mountain.
Shortly after this, we encountered a large group of cows grazing in what appeared to be a fenced off field. As we approached, the cows noticed us and began making their way over to the fence to see us. I also noticed that some of them were walking past us and down the fenceline, where I finally noticed that the gate was open. I decided Mason and I should keep walking and try to get past the cows before they got through the gate. The cows noticed we were on the move, and a few of them let out a blood-curdling "MOOOOOO" (I'm not kidding - it sounded like the cows were rabid or something), and the cows actually began to run after us. I never realized before this that when cows want to, they can actually run pretty fast. I grabbed Mason's hand and we started to run. I was laughing as we ran, but Mason started screaming - "Cows coming, Daddy!" We got past the gate and kept going. I looked back and the cows were all streaming through the open gate and still coming after us, the sound of the cow bells around their necks was almost deafening as they lumbered towards us. We started running and Mason was screaming at the top of his lungs at this point. Visions flashed through my mind of us being the first tourists in Switzerland to be killed by cows. We reached a grate on the pathway that the cows couldn't cross. Seconds after we crossed, the herd reached the grate, stopped and began mooing furiously at us. Mason and I caught our breath and looked back at the cows all lined up staring at us. I guess I will never know what they wanted - perhaps they thought we were there to feed them, but I wasn't taking any chances with stampeding one-ton animals with horns.
A little while later on the trail, we came across another herd of cows grazing on both sides of the trail. This time, no fences, and no where to go but right between them all. Luckily for us, these cows were more of the variety I am used to. This herd barely noticed us as we walked past. Mason watched them cautiously as we went through, asking me occasionally, "Are they coming, Daddy?"When we arrived back at the chalet, Mason couldn't wait to tell mommy all about the cows chasing us, and the big cow-pie he stepped in. At least he didn't seem too traumatized by the whole event. As for his father...I can still hear the cow bells ringing every night since.
