A Peaceful Morning… Until It Wasn’t
Every morning after my daughter boards the school bus, I stroll back into the compound, mentally planning my quiet cup of tea and a moment to just exist without being called “Mum!” from three different directions. But today, the universe had other plans. Who would have thought that I would be disinherited by a cow?
As I turned the corner to the backyard, ready to slip into domestic calm, I came eye to eye with one of our cows — standing smugly outside the shed like she pays rent. We locked eyes. I, still holding my keys. She was still chewing like she had all day. That’s when I knew: peace had clocked out early.
Channeling My Inner Farm Girl (Spoiler: It Failed)
Naturally, I assumed this was going to be easy. I mean, I’m an adult now. A mother. A tax-paying citizen (on most months). Surely returning a single cow to the shed was well within my skill set.
In fact, I saw it as an opportunity — a moment that would make my father look out the window, nod slowly, and think, “You know what? I may not have a son, but my firstborn daughter… she’s really out here holding it down.”
I squared my shoulders, ready for action. Big mistake. Huge.
Fear, Moisturiser, and a Moo with an Attitude
What I didn’t realize is that cows — especially this one — can smell inexperience. And fear. Possibly even regret.
The moment I took a bold step toward her, clapping my hands and calling her like some oversized house cat, she tilted her head ever so slightly, eyes narrowing in slow-motion judgment. She knew. What exactly?
She knew I didn’t have a plan. She knew I moisturized.
And just like that, my confident strut turned into a chaotic scramble. I ran. Into the house. Screaming. Loudly. Probably in English and my mother tongue at the same time.
My Parents, Calm. Me, Hyperventilating.
I burst through the door like a woman being chased by demons — or more accurately, a dairy cow with a bad attitude.
Inside, my parents were calmly spreading margarine on bread like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.
They looked up, forks paused, confused. “What is it?” my mum asked. I opened my mouth, but no words came out — just wheezing and pointing. I finally said that it is the cow.
Surprise: Even My Parents Weren’t Ready for This
They clearly weren’t expecting this.
“What do you mean the cow is outside?” my mum asked, squinting toward the window like the cow might wave politely.
Dad stood up slowly, bread in hand, as if bracing for a tragedy. “Which cow?” he asked.
I squeaked, “The black and white one.”
He looked unimpressed. “All of them are black and white.”
And that’s when I realized — I wasn’t just traumatised. I was also being judged for poor cow-identification skills.
Dad Handles It Like a Boss (and I Take Psychological Damage)
Dad walked out like a man on a mission — no panic. Just dad energy.
I followed behind, staying a safe distance from the cow and my dignity.
He pointed at the shed and said, “Haya, ndani.”
And this cow — this same chaotic creature — calmly walked in. Obediently. Like she was on a union-regulated break.
At that point, I wasn’t even mad. Just deeply, spiritually offended.
The Disrespect Was Multispecies
There’s a specific kind of betrayal that hits when a 500-kilo cow who nearly ended you two minutes ago suddenly acts like a nun in front of your father.
I stood there in silent shame while a chicken strutted by and the cat looked at me like, “Stick to Wi-Fi passwords, sweetheart.”
And honestly? The cat had a point.
How I Knew I Was Being Quietly Disinherited
Back in the house, I sipped cold tea while mum muttered, “She always listens to your father.”
No sympathy. Just brutal facts.
And that’s when it hit me: this is how disinheritance starts. Imagine being disinherited by a cow!
Not with a scandal. But with mild incompetence and a cow that sees through your nonsense.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the will now reads: “To my beloved daughter — a strong Wi-Fi password and some indoor responsibilities.”
The Irony: I’m a Developer, Not a Herder
It must be quite the sight for my parents.
A web developer who can fix code at 2 a.m., but can’t handle a cow named after a fruit.
I speak JavaScript, not “moo.”
She looked at me like, “Stick to HTML, sweetheart.” And honestly, fair enough.
I May Be Inherited Spiritually, If Not Legally
Disinherited by a cow and yet… I’m still motivated.
Not by land or cows, but by stubbornness and Wi-Fi-enabled resilience.
Maybe I’ll never inherit the herd. But maybe I’ll build a system that notifies my parents when the cows escape.
We all have our roles. Hers is to chew and judge. Mine is to code — and pretend that counts as cardio.
And maybe, just maybe… that earns me a small mention in the will. Right under “miscellaneous.”
Been humbled by a cow too? Or just here for the drama?
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read 10 Lessons I learnt The Hard Way Too