Mystery of the cows in the night

They never came back.

It was half-past midnight and I’d just put the light out. A rumbling sound came from outside. That was unusual. They generally came from inside.

“Did you hear that?” whispered my wife. I wanted to go to sleep. I didn’t care what the rumbling was unless it was a Russian tank coming to repossess Red Clydeside.

Even then, I’d have been happy to direct them to certain parts they were welcome to.

“Just a bird on the roof,” I muttered. Then there was a shout from another room. “A herd of cows has just run down the road!” I began to be interested.

Our sons swore they’d seen a dozen cows trot past. So we ran outside.

The night was dark and quiet. Nothing to be seen apart from some stains on the road, stains that didn’t look like they’d been made by a neighbour. No dented cars, no alarms going off, no screaming, no tweedy, red-faced farmer in hot pursuit.

We are suburban enough to have a farm nearby but urban enough to have neds who might think it funny to let some cows out in the middle of the night. So we phoned the police on 101, amusing them no end.

They promised to alert the local plods. The cattle plods, I presumed. Being good citizens we decided to help.

We scoured the area, four shadowy figures stalking the silent streets like inept burglars with no socks on. But all we found were more stains. So we went home.

We’d just closed the door when a police car drove slowly up towards our end of the street then, presumably because the officers saw no cows, reversed back down again.

The cows never came back. There was nothing in the local paper about it. The CID Cow Investigation Department never interviewed us. No one else has ever mentioned seeing or hearing anything.

So were they ghostly cows, leaving ghostly stains? Illegal immigrant cows, smuggled in under cover of darkness? Did we dream it?

Fear of being asked such stupid questions has kept me quiet for months. But without answers I’ll always be listening for hoofbeats when the light goes out.