Sometimes in the haphazard journey of one's life, things happen which have no logical explanation. The expressions, "Fact being stranger than fiction," "Can't believe my eyes," and so on come to mind. This little episode is one of those occasions.

From time to time the cattle or horses, which normally resided in contented exclusivity on the marshland, would take it into their collective heads to go a-wandering. Perhaps a fence-post would fall down, or a strand of wire would rust through and snap. Whatever the reason, an opening would present itself and the cattle, usually the cattle, but sometimes the horses, would file through and go for an inspection tour of the island.
Tenancy on the marshlands seemed to rotate with the seasons. If this season housed the ordinary black-and-white cows, then the next would provide lodgings for the great hairy highland cattle, while the next would see the horses (all of which, in our estimation, were ex-Grand National winners) taking up residence. But they were never allowed to mix together; it seems that racial segregation was even extended to the animal world.
One particular balmy night, with the moon shining brightly and the air as still as a cat with its eye on a sparrow, something caused me to awaken from my slumber. I got up and looked out of the window. My bedroom, now that the lodgers had moved on, was located at the back of the house and the view extended along the canal and its surroundings for about a quarter of a mile. The moonlight was so bright that everything seemed to be shown in strange contrast. The water in the canal appeared as smoked glass; the footpath and the grass verge beside it took on a greenish-white hue; the shadows among the ruins were strangely deepened, yet undefined; an eerie silence covered the land. What was it that had awakened me?
My eyes searched the landscape for any clue which might explain this interruption to my sweet repose. Perhaps I'd been dreaming? What could it be? I scanned the scene from end to end and side to side, right to the edges of darkness. Not so much as a mouse did stir, nor fairy flutter by in nocturnal mischief. Not a sound!
I was about to give up my search when I thought I saw something move on the footpath at the furthest point away from me. And then it was gone! Had I imagined it? No, there it was again! A moving patch of white, nothing more. It moved again, then separated into two pieces. I watched in fascination, transfixed by this strange phenomenon. More patches appeared. Gradually, they moved closer, emerging from the velvet curtain of darkness. All at once the moonlight drew back the curtain to expose the beasties for what they were. They were cows, for goodness sake! Ten of them, twenty, and yet more, all following the leader down the footpath. They moved
closer, obeying the call, no doubt, of some irresistible force; a primeval migratory instinct perhaps.
On they came in their plodding, patient way until they were about fifty yards from our house. One of the cows, the second or third in line, as I recall, walked to the water's edge. I thought for a moment that it was about to take a drink. But no, it just kept on walking, right into the canal and disappeared! It surfaced a moment later and began to strike out towards the opposite bank, while its companions looked on in bovine amazement.
A discussion was held between them as to what to do about their wayward comrade. It seemed, for a moment, as though they were about to follow suit, but common cow-sense - or more likely, fear - prevailed. By now the aquatic cow had reached the other side and was attempting to climb out, but the water was about two feet lower than the edge of the canal bank. The hooves of its front legs kept striking the stone blocks and slipping back into the water. For several minutes the beast tried to gain purchase, inching along the bank in a futile, pathetic search for salvation. But none was to come, at least not on this side. It struck out again back to where its sisters were anxiously waiting. At last it reached the bank, but once again there was nowhere for it to gain a footing, or hoofing, to be exact.
It seemed hopeless. For some reason I felt guilty, though why that was so, I could not say. Perhaps I should wake Dad. No, he'd only give me a belting. I continued to watch, hoping against hope that something, some miracle would happen. The cow was tiring visibly. Its pitiful struggles were becoming much slower. Soon the end must surely come. How long could it keep this up? It crossed my mind that come the morrow a terrible fuss would be made. And how would they get the dead cow out of the canal? Guilt and more guilt. It would be better if I said nothing, otherwise I'd get into awful trouble.
As I was wrestling with my conscience, the miracle for which I had hoped was about to unfold. One of the cows in the worried gathering came forward, reached down, grabbed the hapless swimmer's hair behind its head with its mouth and dragged it out by the scruff of the neck!
I was dumbstruck! I never for one moment expected this. It was truly amazing. I had no idea that cows could communicate in this way, much less care for each other as these obviously did.
Many's the time I've related this story, usually to the accompaniment of askant looks and the inevitable: "Yes, well... Now, er, what were we talking about?" But as God is my judge, I swear it happened thus.
Amazing what you see on a moonlit night, what?