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Blissed out with bovines
16 December 2000

Maddened by trains? Sick of the rain? Cuddle a cow for the weekend, says Chloe Veltman

I have had one close encounter with cows in the past and it was a bit too close for comfort. Rambling in Dorset with a friend, we hopped over a stile to pick buttercups in an inviting-looking meadow, only to have our sunny idyll rudely interrupted by a herd of very peeved cattle, stampeding towards us with fierce determination. I have been a bit wary of cows ever since, so it was with a certain trepidation that I booked a weekend in a hotel that offers a novel facility: the opportunity to get rid of urban stress and angst by bonding with bovines.

It is drizzling relentlessly on North Yorkshire as the hotelier and cow therapist Bill Ward and I splosh across a waterlogged field towards his herd of cattle. As they loom towards us like large, chocolatey yetis against a forbidding grey sky, I am beginning to regret my choice of weekend getaway. Then I come face-to-face with Jo, a suspiciously friendly cross-breed with very muddy hooves.

Jo stares at me, unblinking. I don't know where to look, so I turn to Ward. "You have to be calm around cattle. They can sense when you're nervous," he says, not very reassuringly. Carefully, I extend a hand towards Jo, stroking her across her wide, white nose. And I have to say I find myself relaxing. The world slows down. I even spin into a little cow-induced reverie.

I am starting to think there might be something to this cow therapy thing after all, when I feel a tug at my sleeve and look down to find Jo making lunch out of my new anorak.

The therapeutic benefits of having pets have long been acknowledged. When Ward read a recent article about how a group of scientists in America have been extending this idea to cattle, the notion behind cow therapy was born.

"I've always found cattle incredibly relaxing and I believe cows can help reduce people's stress levels," he says. Marrying his management of the picturesque Dunsley Hall Hotel with his love of cows, Ward decided to offer visitors the chance of enhancing their stay with various cow-related activities.

"That's Primula of Wulstans and that's Prunella Primrose of Barby," he says proudly, introducing me to his favourite Aberdeen Angus cows, while surreptitiously shaking the contents of a brown paper bag on to the grass. "Cow pellets," he explains, as the enormous tawny cows huddle around conspiratorially. "We mustn't let the other cows see or they might get jealous." A motley band of non-pedigree cattle lumbers over to see what all the fuss is about.

'I 've just started giving my Aberdeen Angus calves ancient Greek names," says Ward, introducing me to Ilithia, a swaggering heifer with a haughty look. "I need to find one starting with a P for this one." He indicates a shy calf peering out from behind its mother.

Apparently, it is traditional to give Aberdeen Angus offspring a name beginning with the same initial as their forebears. The unnamed calf in question is related to Primula and Primrose, so I suggest Penelope, the wife of the Greek hero Odysseus, as an option and Ward approves of my choice. As we drive back to hot baths and drinks, I feel proud to have named my first cow.

Dunsley Hall Hotel appears in the distance, set on a cliff between Mulgrave Woods and the North Sea. The fishing town of Whitby is a three-mile stroll along the beach. Built a century ago as a holiday home for a shipping magnate called Fred Pyman, Dunsley Hall changed hands several times before Ward and his wife, Carol, acquired it in 1995 and turned it into a hotel with adjoining farm.

It combines a very good menu and leisure facilities with homely open hearths and leather- and wood-embellished bar and lounge. I was not surprised to hear that Gwyneth Paltrow and Ben Affleck had stayed for several days recently while shooting a film in Yorkshire.

Over in the cattle shed, it is feeding time for Tamsin, an 11-day-old calf. Poking her wet nose out of a wooden straw-decked pen, Tamsin is about the size of a rottweiler and at least as hungry.

Yanking the rubber teat from a litre-bottle of warm milk almost out of my hands, she finishes off the contents of two entire bottles in 30 seconds flat and proceeds to suck the leftover milk from my fingers with her rough grey tongue.

"What kind of cow is she?" I coo. "A by-product of the milk industry," says Ward, without flinching. Tamsin continues slurping, oblivious to her position in the agricultural cosmos.

Perhaps the only drawback to cow therapy is the early start. Ward spends an average of two hours a day "relaxing" with his cattle, but most of this happens before any of his guests have clambered down from their four-posters or tumbled into the dining-room for breakfast.

The comfort of Dunsley Hall Hotel makes the prospect of clumping around a muddy field with a bunch of damp cattle seem less appealing than lolling by the fireside or in the hotel's swimming pool, sauna and sunbed. So it is not without a struggle that I wake at 8am on Sunday for a visit to a local dairy farm.

David the dairy farmer has been up for several hours by the time we arrive. Inside the milking shed, the smell of cowpats and fermenting grass mingles with the sound of pistons and pumps pushing the milk from the patient cows through a complex system of vessels and tubes. Ward bobs his head in time to the rhythm. "I find these sounds so therapeutic," he says.

Meanwhile, David washes the cows' muddy hooves, attaches suckers to their udders and gauges the flow of the milk. They put up with the cramped production line with admirable stoicism.

The weekend has been a curious mixture of creature comforts and an unflinching glimpse into the practicalities of farming. If the problems facing farmers and their cattle have left me worrying for the future of the dairy and beef industries, the good air, hospitality and cow aura have inched me a little farther down the muddy track to contentment.