A serendipitous piece on the enlightenment of the domesticated bovine.
The First and Last Great Cow Caper by Todd M.A. Wandio
Tuesday had always known she was different. While all the other cows were busily munching grass, swallowing, belching wetly and munching the sloppy cud, Tuesday would stare out at the seemingly endless line of rolling hills stretching out on the other side of the fence. This in itself was not unusual, for often she would hear Monday Morning say how she wished she could get to some of the grass on the top of that hill in the distance. The other cows would immediately concur, but, being limited by amazingly small brains, would remember how hungry they were, and the hunger would drive them immediately back to munching grass, belching wetly and chewing the sloppy cud.
Such thoughts of the distant hills stayed with Tuesday. They never left. Oh, sure, Tuesday would eat her fair share of the grass, and she could belch as loudly and wetly as any jersey, but the horizon beckoned. The great beyond called unceasingly to her.
She asked Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago if it were normal for a cow to have such thoughts. For Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago was the eldest of cattle in the barn -- except, of course, for Carl the stud bull, and he was very stupid indeed, even for a cow -- and Sunday was said to be the wisest.
"Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago," began Tuesday in her usual soft way, "Is is normal to think about the hills stretching out to the horizon?"
The elder cow belched wetly, though not as wetly as she used to do when she was younger, and considered the question for all of two seconds, which was a very long time indeed for a cow.
"Young Charolais should not bother themselves with such things," she mooed between chews.
"But I can't stop thinking about it, wise one. Each morning, when I wake up I see the beautiful big yellow ball of fire floating up into the sky, and I wonder what makes it burn. Then I go to the fence and look out at the hills. They are so beautiful in the morning. And when I look, I want so badly to go there, to see the hills, and to see what lies beyond them."
Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago chewed for a long while, shuffled over to a post and scratched her behind on it, belched wetly so that some of the cud slopped out of her mouth which disturbed her greatly, and huffed. She had apparently forgotten that Tuesday was there, and commenced her ritual of biting grass, chewing, swallowing, and so forth.
Tuesday left the wise cow alone, and wandered back to her spot by the fence, overlooking the vast expanse of the hills stretching out before her. She wondered what it would be like to be free. She thought about the life of the cow-kind. How they led such a monotonous existence, how there must be more to this life than chewing, swallowing and belching wetly. As she pondered these questions, she saw the big rumbling barn on wheels roll up to the cattle shed.
Some of the odd two legged creatures who came and went often, were leading Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago into the rumbling barn on wheels. As they went past her, Tuesday asked where they were going.
The odd two legged creatures who came and went often didn't answer. They never did. They were very rude creatures, especially toward the cow kind. But Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago paused between a chew and a dry, choking belch to answer.
"It is my time. I am going to the Barn From Which No Cow Ever Returns." If she were other than a cow, there would have been fear in her eyes. Instead, there was that blank look that cows got whenever they had said something, and their very small brains were coming up with the idea that grass should be eaten, belched up wetly and rechewed.
"But what is out there?" Tuesday called out to Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago, who had found a way to rub her backside against the railings leading up to the rumbling barn on wheels, who could smell the succulent grasses waiting inside, and who had obviously forgotten that Tuesday was speaking to her.
The odd two legged creatures who came and went often closed the barn doors, climbed into the front of the barn, made it start to rumble, and moved the barn away into the distance over the hills on the horizon where the burning yellow ball was starting to fall, just as it did every night.
Neither Tuesday, nor any of the other cows ever saw Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago ever again. And all the cows except Tuesday forgot all about her. Tuesday asked about her one day, when the burning ball that floated in the sky was hiding underneath the fuzzy grey blanket that covered everything and cried, was crying an awful lot, and the cows were kept in the shed. Wednesday Morning Two Summers Ago was munching grass and belching wetly in the stall where Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago used to be. All the cows said that Wednesday Morning Two Summers Ago was the oldest cow in the barn -- exept for Carl the stud bull, who was stupid even for a cow -- and she was very wise.
"Wednesday Morning Two Summers Ago, what happened to Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago when she went to the Barn From Which No Cow Ever Returns?"
The elder cow pondered this for some time, all of three seconds, because she was more intelligent by far than Sunday Afternoon Three Winters Ago could have hoped to be. She belched very wetly and spoke between chews of the rather full mouth of cud she was working.
"Why, she's eating grass, belching wetly and rechewing, of course. What else is there?"
Tuesday held very little hope that she would get any more answers out of the wise cow, but she asked anyway. "What is beyond the green hills? Isn't there more to life than chewing grass and belching?"
Wednesday Morning Two Summers Ago nearly choked on her cud. To even think such a thing was near blasphemy for a cow. Although, to be honest, no cow before Tuesday or since has ever had the ability to form such a grandiose and abstract thought. But the wise cow regained her composure and tried her best to give an answer.
"Why, certainly cows do more than just eat and belch. We cover the ground with the mud that makes the grass grow greener."
Frustrated and dejected, Tuesday returned to her place in the shed. She did not munch any grass that day, nor the next. Two of the odd two legged creatures who came and went often, came to her stall and poked her behind with a hard stick that pushes down, and soon Tuesday felt very tired. she went to sleep, and woke up again, and decided that she felt very good, and baegan to chew grass, belch wetly and chew again.
The days passed. Weeks passed. Tuesday kept her daily vigil on the hills stretching for what seemed forever out on the horizon. She had given up asking what was out there, on the other side of the hills, because she realized that the other cows only thought about grass and eating and belching and making the mud that made the grass grow greener. They didn't particularly notice that Wednesday Morning Two Summers Ago was taken and replaced by the Thursday After That In the Middle of the Night, who was nearly as dumb as Carl, the stud bull, who was old and who didn't even think about chewing, but who thought about something else almost every spare moment when he wasn't doing what he was almost always thinking about. The other cows didn't notice when the two cows who followed Thursday After That in the Middle of the Night were taken away in the Rumbling Barn on Wheels by the odd two legged creatures who came and went often. A dangerous pattern was beginning to form, and Tuesday didn't like what she was thinking. She was born the night after Tuesday Morning When the Blanket covered the Sun and Didn't Cry, and Tuesday Morning was said to be the eldest cow in the barn.
Tuesday decided that the odd two legged creatures were somehow involoved in whatever happened to the cows. So she watched them from a spot behind the barn which looked onto the barn the odd creatures went into and out of.
One morning she witnessed the horrible slaughter of the noisy fluffy white birds which flew badly. The odd creatures seemed to be tearing the birds' heads off and pulling off all of their fluffy white covering. One of the fluffy white birds got loose after its head was pulled off, and it began running away, it's neck spouting blood, while the odd creatures danced and made coyote noises and turned the corners of their odd mouths upwards. They caught the escaping fluffy white bird and pulled out its fluffy white covering and hanged it by its feet with the other birds. It was horrible.
The images of the slauhgter caused the pictures that came while you were sleeping to come into Tuesday's mind. If the odd creatures could make the fluffy white birds lie still like that with their heads off, what was it they did with the cows they took into their Rumbling Barn on Wheels? Tuesday had images of Wednesday Afternoon Three Winters Ago trying to escape, her head off, blood spouting everywhere, and she realized what her purpse in life was.
She must save the herd from the odd two legged creatures who came and went often.
The herd gathered as herds do, Tuesday led the way to a grassy hillock, telling Friday Night One Winter Ago about the luscious grass there, who followed, thinking of all the chewing and belching wetly that would be taking place, and all the cows followed in suit, each one thinking the identical thought of the one before it. At last, the herd was gathered, and Tuesday ascended the hillock to address her sisters. The only one missing was Saturday Afternoon Before the First Snow Fall a Year and a Half Ago. Carl the stud bull, who everyone agreed was the oldest cow on the farm, and who thought of only one thing, being stupid, even for a cow, was aslo missing. Nobody wondered why. They were too busy munching grass and belching wetly.
"Fellow sister cows. We are simple folk. We ask only the green pasture and the warmth of a barn. But something sinister and deadly is happening right under our hooves, and we must act now. The odd two legged creatures who come and go often are stealing us, taking us into their Rumbling Barns on Wheels and killing us for their pleasure. We can not stand here and take it. We must act. We must escape."
Tuesday paused for the audience to react, and shouldn't have been surprised that all she received was the collective blank stare of a number of cows, all in various states of preoccupation with chewing, wet belching and making mud which makes the grasses grow greener. Seeing that, after all, the grass here was actually less luscious thanthat down by the lagoon, the crowd slowly dispersed and went their separate ways.
Tuesday lay for a long time, staring at the odd shapes made by the fluffly white stuff that floated with the burning yellow ball in the sky. Eventually her gaze drifted towards the hills stretching to the horizon, and she wandered that way. Reaching her favourite spot in all the farm, she looked carefully at the posts with the pokey strings which kept her from reaching the hills and seeing what lay beyond them. One of the posts, she noticed with her cow-poor eyesight, was lopsided, and some of the ground was kicked away at the base of the post. Tuesday hoofed at the loose ground, and accidentally nudged the post. It gave with her weight, and a portion of the fence was now on the ground. Glancing quickly around, Tuesday plodded in her usual swaying manner over the fallen fence, and aimed her snout straight for the hills on the horizon. The ground was hard beneath her hooves as she trotted, hind end swaying exuberantly from side to side.
Gone were the thoughts of chewing and belching wetly and making mud which makes the grasses grow greener. Gone were the fears of the horrible odd two legged creatures who come and go often. Gone were the blank stares of the cattle whose only worry was chewing and belching wetly and chewing again.
"Let them be sheep." Tuesday mooed, determinedly. "I was made for greater things." And off she trotted, hind end swaying ebulliently from side to side, making mud which makes the grass grow greener, belching wetly and chewing an ample wad of cud. Off to spread her message about the odd two legged creatures and their mad plans.
THE END
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Copyright 1997 Todd M.A. Wandio
