I went to high school with a nice guy who was, I hate to say it, not the brightest phase of the moon. He used to tell us about his cow-tipping escapades until the Monday that he came in limping. Apparently the cow swayed back the wrong way and fell on him.
(not cow-tipping, but bovine-related). I had a cousin who was a true city slicker, and when her family came out to visit us in Colorado we all went hiking in the mountains. Part of the hike took us through a cow pasture. Although we had told Dana what to look for, she decided the best way to avoid stepping in cow pie was to hop from rock to rock (not that cow pies are hard to see). You guessed it--she soon landed in a soft rock. My dad was a good sport and cleaned her shoe off but we teased her for years.