One hundred and fifty cowbirds.

August 25.

In Dennis’s field this side the river, I count about one hundred and fifty cowbirds about eight cows, running before their noses and in odd positions, awkwardly walking with a straddle, often their heads down and tails up a long time at once, occasionally flying to keep up with a cow, over the heads of the others, and following off after a single cow. 

They keep close to the cow’s head and feet, and she does not mind them; but when all go off in a whirring (rippling?) flock at my approach, the cow (about whom they were all gathered) looks off after them for some time, as if she felt deserted.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 25, 1855