When we pulled up to the farm, Waylon, 4 years old, going on 40, came barreling toward us in muddy cowboy boots. Without a word, he shoved a handful of green rosemary treats into our hands like a grizzled barnhand who’d done it a thousand times before.

His mom, Cori Wilson, the mastermind behind Clarksville Cow Cuddling, waved us over to several steers lazing on colorful picnic blankets, as if this whole scene — child farmers and aromatic snacks — was just like any other day.

Except it wasn’t just any other day. We were cow cuddling, and I had my sights set on Crackle, a 900-pound Jersey steer. I envisioned a quiet, Instagram-worthy moment, gazing into his freakishly long eyelashes. But no sooner had I plopped down in front of him than he huffed, got up, and walked away.

Great, I thought, what am I supposed to write about now?

After a morning of false starts, dead car batteries, and impromptu Uber rides, I was more than ready for a cow to work its psychic powers on my stress.

I reached out to Wilson after seeing a viral TikTok of DMV influencers cuddling with cows. Looking to experience it for myself, I brought a small entourage of Banner staff —Jessica Gallagher, staff photographer and cow cuddling TikTok discoverer; Stokely Baksh, an audience engagement editor who had to see this for herself; and Caitlin Moore, a culture editor who is always looking for an excuse to pet animals.

Koe knuffelen, or “cow hugging,” was first popularized years ago in the Netherlands, where city dwellers regularly indulge in bovine therapy. Katherine Compitus, a professor at NYU’s Silver School of Social Work, explained that while Americans have largely embraced animal-assisted therapy, we’ve been busy cuddling dogs and horses, completely overlooking the emotional lives of farm animals.

This past year, Compitus teamed up with the U.S. Military Academy at West Point to conduct a study on cow-assisted therapy. The results? Not only did people feel less stressed, but the cows did, too.

“It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. The cows enjoy interacting with people, and the people enjoy interacting with cows,” Compitus said.

Wilson vividly remembers the first time she cuddled a cow. She was 15 and a camp counselor on a Pennsylvania farm when she sat between the cows’ hooves and leaned back on its belly as the animal wrapped its neck around her.

“The cow hugged me back,” she said.

In 2020, Wilson started her cow cuddling business with three dairy cows — Snap, Crackle and Pop — rescued just before they were sent to a veal farm. They were barely days old and each weighed about 60 pounds, small enough to look like baby deer scampering around the barn.

Wilson felt that agri-tourism would be popular during COVID — it’s why she started the business — but she had no idea it would take off as much as it did. So, naturally, she expanded. The herd grew to include four more pasture puppies, as she calls them: Pebbles and Little Rock, the only females, and two steers named Captain and Crunch.

Like humans, Wilson said, cows have personalities — and a hierarchy. For example, Crackle, the Jersey steer with horns, is the alpha. Pebbles, a Highland and White Park mix, is the mischievous younger sibling. Crunch, whom Wilson saved from slaughter, is the group’s people pleaser, always needing to be the center of attention.

After observing cow cuddling sessions for years now, Wilson has come to believe that cows can sense our personalities and emotions, too.

There was the woman who had just moved to Maryland, shy and struggling to make friends. Little Rock, the most introverted and least likely to cuddle, came right next to her, laying her head in her lap for pets.

Then there was the boy with autism who instantly gravitated toward Snap, the most laid-back of all the cows. For 35 minutes, the boy and Snap lay together watching the clouds drift by, with the cow’s head resting over the little boy’s heart.

And there was the mother who came straight from her son’s funeral. She found Captain, a big, gruff steer who, despite his tough exterior, is the gentlest soul on the farm. She sat with him and cried, while Captain simply stayed beside her, quiet and calm.

“They just know,” Wilson said.

Caitlin quickly became the animals’ favorite — several cows rested their heads in her lap, letting her lean back on their bellies. Of course, being the chosen one comes with its own challenges.

“The burps were rancid,” she later admitted.

Jessica handed me her cameras so she could cuddle with Snap, the farm’s designated chiller. With her red hair blending into Snap’s ginger fur, she sighed, “I really needed this.” Stokely, meanwhile, somehow managed to juggle a camera tripod in one hand while petting a cow with the other, moving gracefully through the herd. “My kids are going to be so jealous,” she said.

After Crackle rejected me — a snub that felt personal, though Wilson assured me, “He’s just like that” — I hung back, taking it all in. Waylon, the pint-sized foreman, was busy spreading hay and brushing Pebbles, his favorite. Captain darted from person to person, attempting to sneak treats out of unsuspecting hands and pockets. All the while, Little Rock took a grassy corner all to herself, basking in the first sunny day we’d had in weeks.

Compitus told me the biggest benefit of spending time with farm animals might not even be petting the animals themselves — it’s the chance to be in nature, away from phones and computers. To cow cuddle, she explained, you only need to be one thing: present.

After our session, we thanked Wilson, then grabbed cold drinks from the farm store. Sitting under a shaded bench to debrief, we joked about the cows, about ourselves, about work. It wasn’t until Jessica offered me a ride home that I remembered — oh right, my car battery was dead, and yes, I still had to go back to work. But somehow, the weight of it all felt lighter.

Maybe, just maybe, the cows had worked their magic on me after all.

Clarksville Cow Cuddling is located at 4979a Sheppard Lane, Ellicott City, MD 21042 on the same property as Mary Land’s Farm. To learn more, visit their website.