Her kitchen had an old country cottage feel to it, with wooden benches and walls, pots hanging from the ceiling and little sunlight. She was preparing a light meal, chatting away about nothing inparticular. Before we knew it, through the window leaped a large brown cow. It was angry, diving onto my friend, hitting her with his hooves and growling at her. I kicked his back as hard as I could, and ran to the next room toward the stairs. My friend yelled at me not to lead him upstairs as more damage would be done to her house, so I came back to the kitchen through another door.
He was close behind me, on his hind legs ready to pound me. My heart was beating hard. My friend who was protected behind the kitchen bench, injured badly, told me that he hated coffee. I reached for a freshly brewed coffee off the table, and threw it on his genitals, the cow howled with pain and anger. He was prepared to strike back, but I was also prepared. I had a knife, gripping to it tightly, I jumped up and jabbed it deep into his throat.
There was a loud bang as he fell to his death on the kitchen floor.