One paragraph about a cow

So I'm doodling along the high stretch just past the Valle Caldera a few hundred feet before the road dips down to the Dill's. I noticed the cows before; each day I passed I caught glimpses of bulky creatures being bovine on each side of the road, but brazen and defiant on the wrong side of the fence. Light was already fading when I left Los Alamos; as I stylishly swept past the last curve out of the volcano it was pitch dark, no moon, but my headlights caught something unfamiliar, vehicle-like, lurking by the gate to the visitor center. I wisely slammed on my breaks to assume an innocent cruising speed well below 70 mph. I watched closely in my mirror to see if the vehicle would turn on its frightening lights and pursue me; and yes, indeed, it appeared to slowly start drifting towards the road. When I returned my gaze to the view before me (I had to, I was driving), there she was: the cow! She stood motionless, oddly white looking, luckily on the other side of the road. My first thoughts were "general", philosophical. Do I stop and shoo her? I'm not a cowboy, not any kind of a herder even of single animals. Besides, any vehicle equipped with headlights would see her, just the way I did, and swerve around the beast, perhaps colliding head-on with the troopers pursuing me, but then that's none of my business, is it. Still, it occurred to me that I am the only person in the world aware of this potential disaster and likely death of cows and people. As I entered the long curve ahead of me there, of course, appeared a car traveling at a high speed in the opposite lane. I let go of the gas, assumed rapid flashing of lights and hooting. I started breaking and watched the scene behind me, focused again on the mirror. There seemed to be no cops chasing me, but the car showed no signs of slowing, and then, naturally, the white cow sparkled briefly, a screech of tires, wham! the rear lights of the car zigzagged in the darkness. I stopped, turned around, and zoomed back to the site of the accident. The cow lay motionless on the road, its eyes open, tongue drooping on to the asphalt, still breathing, heavily. The car was stopped further down, tipped on the edge of the shoulder, headlights still on, engine running. The vehicle, which I had assumed to be police was slowly approaching from the other side and stopped on the opposite of the road from me. We both turned on our flashers. I got out first. The cow-killing car door opened and a very old lady slowly oozed out, both hands clutching just below her throat. I walked toward her "You OK?" "Are you hurt?" She flapped one hand, and whimpered and squeaked to suggest that she was unhurt. We both walked over to the cow and stood over it solemnly. I made a few analytical comments like "I don't think she's going to make it." The car on the other side stood motionless, doors closed, tinted windows rolled up. I fiddled with my phone, couldn't get a signal. The old lady seemed deeply shocked and distressed, so I slowly started to guide her away from the animal. As we were part way to her car the doors of the mystery vehicle swung open violently and two large, bulky figures wearing desert fatigues (wrong zone) leapt out. They seemed heavily equipped around their waists (armed?) and carried powerful flashlights which they swept around the scene, including into our faces, for sustained spells. They made harsh, battlefield sounds to each other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were more Mr. Hulot, or even Chief Inspector Clousesau, than any type of Delta Force or Navy Seals; when one bent over the cow to examine it expertly, he fell on to it and had to scramble and push at its belly in horror to regain his balance, his flashlight angled at his own face and blinding him until he stood up. I busied myself for a while picking up bits of the old lady’s car and throwing them to the side of the road. As I drifted past where the cow lay I became aware that the pitch dark deepened and somewhat roiled, if you pardon the term, by the far side of the road. The warrior blokes noticed this also, at the same moment. They turned their flashlights at the advancing blackness and revealed a massive bull slowly turning towards them (“Oh, look, another cow,” said one). There were more black shapes behind the creature, presumably the front ranks of a herd. The soldiers appeared unafraid (boldly shouting: “Shoo! Shoo! Off with you, go away!”) and walked toward the animals waving their flashlights. But they walked more and more slowly as the bull lowered his head and begun to scrape the ground with his horny hoofs like they do in corrida de torros footage, or even more so, in Warner Bros cartoons. The two finally stopped, lowered their flashlights and made slow arching sweeps with their legs, letting the bull know that they were just kidding with the “shoo” stuff and would soon be on their way back to their vehicle, which amazingly is what they did, scooting back into their cab, vaguely shouting words like “radio!”, we’ll get it!”, “wait there!”. The bull resumed his advance until he stood over the cow in the middle of the road. It appeared that she was still alive. She pulled in her tongue and raised her liquid eyes up to him. He snorted, his face really close to her now. They were both caught in the headlights of our vehicles, spot lit, and took advantage of this opportunity to enact a most gripping drama as we all paused and gazed at them agape: the soldiers’ radios dangling in their limp hands, I held an orange turn signal from the old lady’s car, while she still clutched with both hands below her throat. The cow raised her head until she was gazing straight into the bull’s steaming nostrils. He took a step back and snorted again. She made several attempts to shift herself onto her belly; finally when she did, she pulled her front legs back under herself and begun to raise herself onto her knees. He took a step back again. Then another. She swayed back and forth, not enough to lose her balance, but enough to lead to a release of a violent scramble of knees and hoofs which miraculously levitated her until she stood, firmly planted, astride the double yellow line. The bull turned and walked away. She first swayed again, then lurched slightly until her shifting weight translated down to her hoofs into a step. Then another. Then she began to walk, slowly following the bull off the road. She fitted right in to the deep darkness, which wobbled a few times here and there, and gradually dissolved into ordinary pitch black.