Dare I admit that I am in love with buffalo? Just take a peek. Yeah, I admit these guys are baby buffalo, but how cute!
Years ago I visited a buffalo farm in New Jersey which was known for their bison. I remember watching the buffalo in the field--I always think they are so magnificent looking--but what I remember most was accidentally stepping into a gigantic pile of buffalo poop. It looked like a mound of dirt. I had no idea. Yuck!
Today Dan, Theo, and I are on our way to another buffalo farm, but this farm is known for its buffalo mozzarella. It is family owned, of course, and it is surrounded by palm trees. Only in Italy.
My appreciation for mozzarella has grown over the years. When I make lasagne, you can buy mozzarella all wrapped up and ready to slice. When you make a pizza, you can buy already shredded mozzarella. You can buy low fat and full boat mozzarella. Now the trend is fresh mozzarella, which is still sitting in its own juice.
Most mozzarella is from cows. In Italy, in Capaccio, a province of Salerno in the Campania region, they breed buffalo for their mozzarella. The taste of that particular mozzarella is richer and more tangy.
So here we are at a buffalo farm, and I am very careful where I step. The buffalo here, when we arrive are in stalls, and luckily, we can walk on pathways--free of poop? I'm hoping.
The buffalo do roam outside, but for now they are in their pens. This place is enormous.
Theo is in his glory. He can smell the buffalo--and his little nose is sniffing away. He stops a few times along the trail and just stares.
I've seen them before, of course, in the wild at Yellowstone National Park. There you keep your distance. They can move fast, and like most wild animals, the mamas will defend the baby buffalos if they sense any threat. A close encounter with a buffalo will land you in the hospital or even dead.
"Keep an eye on him," Dan calls out.
"I know." He means Theo, whose curiosity might just get the best of him.
I call it close encounters of the third kind--when you go nose to nose. I can imagine Theo . . .
And sure enough there he is, the little gangster cat, stalking along the perimeter of the fence, separating safety from buffalo. He stops. And a buffalo saunters over. Curious too?
I can easily imagine the worse case scenario. Theo slips under the fence, misinterpreting the buffalo's friendliness. Something Chucky would do.
If I move closer, will Theo make a move? A wrong move?
Meanwhile, the buffalo--let's call him Bill--is inserting his head between the iron fencing and sniffing. I know he's spied Theo. I know he's curious. Has he ever seen a cat before? Sniffed a cat?
I have to admit this buffalo looks totally harmless. But I've heard the stories from Yellowstone. I know they are deadly wild animals. And yet, dare I say it, they look cute.
I snap a lot of photos. I take one more video. Stalling?
"Should we let Theo sniff the buffalo?" I tentatively ask.
Dan looks like he can go either way. But he steps closer.
"Wait. Not too close--"
But Theo is giving me the evil eye. Even Buffalo Bill is looking at me a bit funny.
Nothing much happens. Theo sniffs. Buffalo Bill sniffs. There is no biting, punching, eye gouging, cat eating. Nothing. Later we eat lunch there also (it's always about food), and Theo even tries the buffalo mozzarella.
Theo likes it. Yes!!
