Then you notice that your friends, who have been talking loudly, have become silent. You put down the binoculars to figure out what is going on. That’s when you realize that the buffalo are no longer standing still, but have gathered around the parade of cars. They are surrounding your car. You couldn’t move, even if you wanted to. The buffalo swarm is exciting, and bordering on scary. Still, they are moving slowly and they don’t smell too bad. You notice they make an odd burping sound as they chew their cud. Gross. Manners, cows.

You then hear noises that are neither gas- or digestion-related. Loud noises. Worrisome noises. Noises that mean war. You think to yourself that there is always a jerk in a crowd, and a buffalo crowd is no different. One buffalo is now challenging another. Right along side of your car. Fight! Fight! You are no longer curious about the swarm. You are now in terrified awe of these animals that are much larger than your little car. You are keenly aware of their horns. Pointy horns. You are especially aware that they are threatening each other with their pointy horns. This is when you would normally think about backing up. But you can’t. You are in a car surrounded by other cars. Which are surrounded by hundreds of other buffalo. You are at the complete and udder (Ha!) mercy of the horde.

The buffalo settle their dispute. The loser sulks away. In your direction. You make eye contact. You look down quickly. Damn it, why did you make eye contact? Mr. Shamed Buffalo is now trotting towards you. Looking at you. With intent. He is playing chicken with the car. The car you can’t move. You roll up the window. You start to squeal. Someone in the back seat says, “Oh shit.” Everyone leans over to the other side of the car. Lucky for you, Mr. Shamed Buffalo is a double loser, or realizes he can’t play chicken with a stationary car. He bails at hitting the car and darts around the back at the last second. You swear he tries to hip check your bumper. You are still squealing.

The passengers in the nearby cars are looking at you and pointing. Excited for your experience. Happy you didn’t die. Or just laughing at your squealing. You couldn’t agree more. Coolest thing ever. Wait, who got a picture of that? Crap.