She can barely see me – young Honey’s golden fringe falls well past her eyes. But the 11-month-old Highland calf trusts me, allowing me to nestle in close to brush her long, shaggy coat up along her neck. She tilts her head towards the sky, her wet pale pink nose catching the sun – she loves it. And for a moment, nothing else matters.

I’m at Wildhand Farm, a 10 hectare property in Willunga Hill, South Australia. Little more than 12 months ago, budding farmers Alice Cearns, 29, and Reece Merritt, 37, were “going broke”. Their income from growing and selling native Australian flora and proteas was not enough to support their growing family. They began hosting flower-arranging workshops for the public but, in a twist of fate, their two Highland cows stole the show.

More than 2,000 people have booked into the Highland cattle experiences since 2024. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

“The excitement was crazy,” says Cearns. “People wanted to spend more time with the cows than the flowers. “We realised: we have to get more cows.”

The pair, who live on the farm with their two children, both under three, have seen more than 2,000 people through their property since launching private and small group Highland cattle experiences in October 2024. Dates now book out months in advance.

Scottish Highland cattle are recognised for their shaggy coats and long, curved horns. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

Farmers Alice Cearns and Reece Merritt, with their six-week-old baby, Cody. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

“That first woman from the flower workshop who asked to see the cows, she just started crying when she got up close with them,” Cearns says.

“We’ve had an 82nd birthday here, and she could barely walk, but she was just so over the moon to be out there.

• Sign up for the fun stuff with our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning

“We realised it’s a very therapeutic process to be out there with them, brushing them, bonding with them. We had a woman who worked for the NDIS say how much it would help those with disabilities improve their mental health.”

‘We realised it’s a very therapeutic process,’ says Cearns. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

Cow cuddling isn’t new: in recent years, farmers in Australia, the UK and the US have been inviting people to hug their herds as a supersized form of animal therapy. But these aren’t ordinary cows. Scottish Highland cattle – recognised for their shaggy coats and long, curved horns – aren’t farmed for meat in Australia, living to an average age of 23. There are a handful of other farmers and business owners who run Highland cow encounters in Australia, including The Farm at nearby Clarendon.

The animal-loving pair were drawn to Highlands for grazing because the breed isn’t used for milk or meat – though the cows’ endearing faces helped, too. “I wanted a cow breed that you didn’t have to kill,” Cearns says.

The farm now has nine Highlands: Mabel, Millie, Matilda, Ruby, Mia, Max, Menzi and Banks. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

‘They’re so cute,’ says first-time cow cuddler Georgia Standing, 22. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

Merritt’s feelings on this also run deep. Raised on his family’s sheep farm in Mount Compass, he says he “never liked the killing”. Highlands, the pair say, are more like giant pets. Their charismatic herd now numbers nine, each “with their own personalities”: Mabel, Millie, Matilda, Ruby, Mia, Max, Menzi and Banks, aged between seven months and four-and-a-half years.

At the start of the tour, the females come galumphing out – some faster than others (easy does it for the old girls). Merritt throws out a fresh batch of hay, giving them a chance to settle before we approach. Their presence feels big, not only in size but in an intangible, humbling energy that surrounds us as we slowly build confidence in patting, brushing and even cuddling the warm-bodied beauties.

Two Highlands bound across a field. Photograph: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

‘It’s satisfying getting their knots out, too,’ says Standing. Composite: Carrie Jones/The Guardian

Smiles and laughter ripple through the group – and the cows bask in the attention. First-time participant Georgia Standing, 22, says pampering the cows made her feel “warm and fuzzy”. “They’re so cute,” she says. “It’s satisfying getting their knots out, too.”

Brushing their coats feels grounding, wholesome. The surrounding gums, the fresh air and free-roaming chickens add to the tranquillity, as do the many rows of blooming flowers.

The cows are a time waster, Merritt jokes. “In the evening, I’ll come out here and the cows are just laying, and I’ll lay with them,” he says. “You can’t hear any cars. It’s just peaceful.”