Sex And The Country

11 Apr 2010

When R and I first met he insisted that I was the midwest’s equivalent to Carrie Bradshaw. While I found this idea flattering, if not humorous, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the episode in which she and Aidan go to his rustic cabin in the country and how she barely survived two days there. I thought to myself, oh yes, that would be me. Then I thought to myself, oh nooo!…I am falling in love with a farmer!  A real live F-A-R-M-E-R. Farmers live in the country surrounded by animals and well water.  I won’t even drink filtered tap water and I never leave the house in flat shoes. Ever.

Fast forward six years. I married him. We live in the Irish countryside and the closest thing to my former Sex and the City lifestyle is a walk-in wardrobe filled with the residual Mui-Muis and Manolos of days past. They seemingly have no use in these parts. Nope, nowadays life is more like an episode of “Sex and the Country”. Not saying it’s not fascinating…even entertaining, just “tis different”. Quite different indeed…

Life then: Sunday breakfast or a bagel and coffee at the perfect city café around the corner chatting away with friends followed by reading the beautiful New York Times newspaper and magazine.

Life now:  Sunday morning awake with fingers crossed that we have everything for me to make breaky in the fridge because the store is ages away and I can’t be bothered to drive it.  Followed by reading the news on nytimes.com followed by witnessing two cows getting it on in the pasture.

Yes, cows getting it on. Or “bonking” as an English friend calls it. With all the mating rituals I’m witnessing round’ here I think it is safe to say that there is definitely more sex in the country than sex in the city that I used to live in.  I have to admit, I just could not believe my eyes the first time I witnessed a cow mounting another cow. A bull just wanders around the pasture jumping on random heifers whenever the mood strikes him.  Very aggressive.  It just doesn’t look right. They’re too big for heaven’s sake! The act appears to be really clunky and awkward. Not sexy AT ALL. Plus, it looks like the girl cow is not happy. Plus, they are in the middle of a pasture and there’s no privacy…just not right. And it looks just as strange to me with all of the animals out here; sheep and horses too (yes, it is shockingly true what they say about horses.eeeewwwwww) Even our dogs seem to constantly be humping around with eachother and they are all males. Way too many country pheromones in the air for me to handle at times. Way too many indeed.

R is in charge of animal health and animal reproduction at the farm. He sees that the heifers hook up with the bulls and if that doesn’t work he works his A.I. magic.  A.I., or artificial insemination, is quite an interesting process to go through with cows.  Let’s just say that there is a 3-foot long glove which needs to be worn whilst doing the procedure.  And it’s not the cow wearing it. I’m sure now you’re wondering where the “inseminatory” fluid comes from to begin with, aren’t you? (yes, I made that word up because I don’t think you can say the S word on a blog or at least I’m not going to).  Well, I just happened to find out whilst watching a farming program on the telly the other night. Let me try to paint the picture…generally speaking, there is a very important man in County Meath who is an aficionado in this area and he goes in and intervenes and collects it just as the sire is mounting the cow. He uses an apparatus that he designed that so realistic that the bull doesn’t know the difference. Again, really TMI to watch.

I’m not sure why all this animal breeding business makes me feel so uncomfortable. What I do know for sure is that writing about it has made me feel the urge to immediately book a divine, girly city holiday as soon as possible.  {Ok sweetie?}

Coming up: I will be featuring a very different kind of Irish sexiness, Trish Deseine, the best-selling author who was born in Belfast, now living in Paris and whom has been dubbed “The Irish woman who is France’s Nigella.”

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photo courtesy of Easy Living

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