Sunday, November 11, 2012
From an old post to a photography forum by a Russian lady, commenting on the original poster's photos of cows in a pasture, including wet noses close up:
"Nice images, but I won't go near those type of cows. The one day I was minding my own business walking through the woods. I stumble upon a farm, from a distance I saw those cows (at first I thought they were bulls (some did have horns). Well they only way out of the farm was to walk right passed these cows. They all stared me down and walked very quickly towards. Good thing there was a fence, otherwise I might not be here today."
Commenting was now disabled on that rather old post, but someone should have enlightened the city girl a bit. Such as:
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However if they have calves, and you have a dog, they may attack.ReplyDelete
At least one Brit dies this way each year.
Guessing the Brit is a Scot.Delete
It's a well known fact that diary cows such as these are terminally inquisitive. They are particularly fascinated by dogs. Just bark at them and they'll run away.ReplyDelete
I know A's comment contains a typo and she didn't mean it, but I like the idea of 'diary cows'ReplyDelete
"Monday- up early, just before dawn, and grazing in the lower meadow, I love the coolness of the dew on the grass, the way it brings out the full flavour, we float, my family and I, as if in a sea of pale milk, only our top halves clearly visible, dipping our heads, like diving seals, into the milky mist, delving in the sea's depths, for, perhaps, an anemone. I can hear Proserpine's deep bellow. She's so large now, I think it will be twins. Poor thing, her ankles are sore, she stands in the stream, letting the cool water take away the ache. The sun, now, glinting and streaming through the trees, tells us it's time to wend our way up the hill to the farm. It will be a relief to get into that milking parlour, I can tell you, I feel close to bursting, I wonder why those humans want ever bigger boobies. Just ask me, girl, I'd tell you, small is beautiful.
Well, anyway, I like the milking parlour. It has music. Depends who's on though, sometimes, with the young guy, its all jangly bang-bang noise, and you can't settle, like when they've got all those damn machines in the next field. But the older guy. Mozart, he calls it. Like my last calf, born to mozart. Soothing. Like little birds flying up. Mozart. He was a handsome young calf, but, like them all, comes a day when they're loaded onto the truck and leave. No time to say goodbye. I cried for days.
Well, maybe he's growing up, got a girlfriend somewhere, maybe one day he'll be like George, and have a private room in the barnyard, and a herd of his own?
I wonder where they all go? I wish I knew.
George. All the humans are a bit scared of him. If only they knew what a softy he really is. Oh yes, he bellows loud, but my, has he got the moves! Ha. Well, lets not be going all girly. But you know, as we enter the yard, all the girls look up toward George's place. We all call out, hoping for an answer in his deep molasses voice. My, that gives me a shiver of excitement. Oh well, milking. I get a shower too, and afterward, light as a feather, I'll be able to run, like the young heifer i was such a short time ago. Demeter frowns upon us running though. A grown cow should show dignity, she says.
Demeter's so down to earth.
I wonder what we'll do tomorrow?"
It's like you got right inside a cow's brain. It seemed so real.Delete
Yep, I got right in there... buttery goodness, steak and onions...Delete
You should have milked them and have saved yourself having to buy any milk for a while...you could have made some butter! ;)ReplyDelete
Whoops! Not sure what happened there...the first time I tried to post...an "error" came up! I'd better take some antacid...I'm repeating myself!ReplyDelete
:) :) :) I know I should delete this too but you are too funny!Delete