Country diary: The Highland coos chew sloppily on sweet summer grass

  • 7/13/2022
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My American friend shrieks when she first stumbles upon one. With the hilltop ruins of Ruthven Barracks rising behind them, the horned beasts look like relics from a fierce Highland past. But if they’re not with a calf, there’s nothing to fear: Highland cows are gentle souls. These ones turn their shaggy, ginger heads to us, large doe eyes half-hidden by a tumble of fringe, their maws chewing sloppily on sweet summer grass. They obligingly pose for photos, allow a pat. So charming and Instagrammable are these beasts that one could be forgiven for suspecting they are strategically deployed by VisitScotland. But their origins have nothing to do with tourism. Called Bò Ghàidhealach – the Gaelic cow – or Heilan coo in Scots, they are natives of the north-west of Scotland. Their long coats, which also come in fetching colourways of black, blonde and brindled, have an oily upper layer for repelling rain and a downy under layer for warmth. It means these hardy creatures (whose collective noun is “fold”, not “herd”) can remain outside in blasting gales, rain and sleet, growing a thicker coat for winter and using their long, curved horns to forage through the snow. Coupled with their gift for maximising poor land, they are perfectly adapted to the punishing conditions of the Highlands and Western Isles, and are ideal for conservation grazing. For hundreds of years they were a mainstay of the Highland home and economy, prized originally for their succulent meat, rich milk and long hair for yarn. Indeed, they are the oldest registered cattle in the world – their opening entry in the 1885 Herd Book asserts: “Of all the representatives of our British bovine breeds, the Highlander has the grandest and most picturesque head.” Today, they are reared mainly for their high-quality beef, which is 40% lower in fat and cholesterol than the usual fare. Back at the Barracks, the July sunshine vanishes into cloud and a cool breeze. A coo gazes at me through her long ginger dossan, proud horns curving high, mouth full of wildflowers, and assures me that some things never change.

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