Published in Jewels in The Queen’s Crown, A Sweetycat Press Publication, 2022
The metal contraption had tiny slits that let in little air and slivers of light that flickered as we sped along to parts unknown. We were packed so tight, like sausage–beef sausage–that some of us began to bray. When the contraption stopped moving, the backdoor flung open violently and no sooner was a ramp secured than we were prodded with sticks and told to hurry up, as if we were dumb, unworldly animals with no common sense or spiritual awareness.
Our new home, an outdoor pen, was enclosed by metal fencing. Its floor was muddy, trodden on by many. Not a good omen, but what struck me was the absence of grass. No grass! I breathed down the panic and closed my eyes knowing I should live in the present even though this was not the present of my choice. My one and only home had been a haven of lush green grass and clean water. Sadly, the water here had a foul taste. The racket of numerous machines and fleshy odors distressed some, but in that moment between stimuli and response, where my comfort zone expanded, I was able to regard my situation with curiosity.
I admit I was relieved not to be rump-to-rump couped up and moving at 60 miles-an-hour. Some engaged in catastrophizing and distorted thinking: “They’re going to slaughter us! This is the end!” There was boo-hooing rather than the moo-mooing, and bellowing, but once the trough of corn and millet was discovered, our bovine-like personas triumphed.
Being of an advanced age, I’d sat with my spirituality. I understood the world to be impermanent. Here I was admiring the magnificent blue Californian sky, noting in the distance gray clouds. I recalled that there was nothing more pleasing to me than to stand on a hillside in summer and eat really good organic grass, with the rain just heavy enough to chase away those pesky flies. I leaned my heavy chest against the gate, wondering if the rain would come. Other thoughts naturally arose: what kinds of grass lay beyond these gates of metal? Would there be horseflies? What were the humans like? As I pondered questions, the gate moved. I leaned a little more, and the two sides separated, so I asked myself: what would be the wise action? What could I say to my colleagues that would be kind, timely, true and helpful?
“Gate’s open, everyone! I’m leaving. Anyone wanna’ join me?”
To my astonishment the group, who were usually reserved and indecisive, followed me with beefed-up enthusiasm. We trod slowly at first because the rock-hard ground jolted us right to our reticulum, but soon, we found the right rhythm. Without question, we accepted sore hooves in the interest of a novel experience.
There were 40 of us. Suddenly I felt the camaraderie of the pack, that I was not one but many. Were strong and resilient. At a fork in the road, I remembered the poem – “The Road Not Taken” – my caretaker often quoted about paths:
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear.
I lead, and the herd followed.
Whenever we felt the urge, we’d stop and munch the many surprising grasses: bluegrass, ryegrass, bermudagrass, fescue, some very fancy, some so hybridized that we had no palette for them. Some lingered at the grass stations, fueling up, while others plowed onward, feeling the pull and stretch of unexplored leg muscles. Others, not quite so graceful—the troublemakers– clumsily ran into those metal boxes with windows that lined the streets, and knocked down the bird houses nailed to the tops of fence posts.
Soon the humans appeared: tall, short, fat, skinny, young and old, brown-black-and-white, but not the ag type I was accustomed to – those in knee-high boots, overalls and seed caps, thus was I presented with another life challenge: how do I negotiate this extraordinary social situation! Where was that space of calm in which to think? Surprisingly some humans did the work for me. They ran off screaming. Some guffawed and chortled – as if they had never seen a cow before! Others shouted: “Hey you big hunk of sirloin! Come on’ over here! I got somethin’ for ya’!” Quite a few held out their cells (I am not an unaware cow: I know a cell when I see one) telling me to, “Halt, Cow!” I obliged and raised my head high, my dewy brown eyes staring bravely into the wild blue yonder.
Holy-moly!
I felt the need to keep moving. The others were no longer behind me: they were immersed in the fancy grasses or just plain tired. Who knew what lay ahead? I found right effort, and in that realm was hope; hope built self-confidence, and with self-confidence one achieved competency. My inner energy situation was evolving second by second, and I understood my life was a landscape open, and unfolding, and although I won’t say that I was particularly attached to any specific green pasture, but I was cautiously optimistic that greener pastures would always be a part of my life’s experience.
June 24, 2021: 40 Cows escaped from a slaughterhouse in California; one cow, due to a valiant effort to embrace life, was given a full reprieve and lifelong sanctuary.
Patricia Dutt 