My brother Bill, my cousin Bobby and I grew up at 166 Rugby Road in Charlottesville, Virginia. (This is now a parking lot.) Whenever it snowed, we got out the sleds and went everywhere youngsters probably should not have gone. One day, and I am not sure if Bobby was with Bill and me on this excursion, but Bill led me to a driveway that led down to the farm house where the groundskeeper for the University of Virginia lived. We both had Red Rider sleds. It was a steep driveway. Bill started first and I was right behind. As we were approaching the bottom of the driveway, a cow walked onto the road and stood there. Bill zipped between the cow’s legs and I was right behind him.
We did not hit the cow and the cow never moved.
We never told mother. Nope.