Bovine

Like infantile calves – they let us out to graze before they even showed us the pasture. For years did they watch as we writhed to break free from the noose – clenching their bony digits around the whip. With each annihilating howl, we threw our necks back unto the blood red sky as the braided leather carved into our flesh the image they so desperately wanted us to portray. After all, it was never enough to have initially branded our rumps so that every time we took a step, we knew that we were but bitches to a bastard. Days passed and the sun beat into our skulls to extract what little nutrient we still contained. Only the dirt between our hooves could speak of the daily pilgrimage to slaughter, as we were not allowed to exist audibly but for the rustling of the grass we ate routinely, three times a day. During mealtimes, tensions would rise as a few of the older ones grew excessively frustrated watching the young, vivacious Golden Ones frolic about their restricted pasture. These ones were the fresh meat and bones to arrive. They were scrupulously yielded more meticulous care so as to distract them from their eventual fate of ending up just like the rest of us. Besides, new product had to be coddled for the novelty it was, we only saw about three births a month because of the adverse effects of BGH. Some days we wonder why they even use our milk because we’re so lethargic – anatomically atrophic, even. It’s a wonder some of the skin they ship out doesn’t sift through the palates as if they were gargantuan sieves of some inhumane sort. Last week we swore they didn’t know that five of us died. There wasn’t any mention of profits decreasing, or even anger. It’s like we’re depreciating, or they’re just getting apathetic. Either way, we still walk the same paths every day, same line, same order. On the off chance that one of us tries to go astray, they’re on you like clockwork, it’s kind of like they’ve got some kind of intuition after all this time and they just know when something’s about to happen. I don’t think we have any of that – intuition. We just walk, and walk, and eat, and graze the same schematic tracks, but we never really know where we’re going. Sometimes we swore we saw something move or change, but then with the shake of the head, we were back between these bars again – moving, moving, and moving some more. Now, I can’t speak for the rest of them, but I always do wonder what the ones hanging naked ever did so wrong.