Uchay Writes

The cockerel warmed up his vocal cords; he crowed to his heart’s content, creating a sound of low grumbles from the cattle that were roused from their sleep. I too replicated these groans and my eyes fluttered open, the cow shed filling my view, the smell of manure and fresh hay filled my nose. As the other cows were being tended to, I trotted outside.

There was a cool breeze that swept through the rural countryside, the dewy smell of damp grass lingered. The shy sun was partly hidden by the mass of clouds which fought for space in the sky. The air smelt different; it was more metallic, more odorous. The intense freshness of air tickles my nostrils. But it was not the same tickle as it usually was. It was different. Before I could process that thought I huffed out a sneezed. The clouds seemed darker, more ominous as if a sort of smoke that was screaming death, warning everyone who saw it that the day of reckoning was coming.

Bob came to feed us. Bob was a strange fellow, never really talked but would always hack up phlegm and spat at us when enough was produced, the slimy substance would stick and drip on our fur, if it got on our face we’d quickly lick it off, sometimes it would contain bits of food he’d eaten. He always wore the same outfit: plaid shirt underneath, washed-out grey dungarees, and big leather boots which were obviously too small for him as Bob would limp (I bet his feet were riddled with blisters).

He poured out the silage into the trough for us as usual. The cattle didn’t really show much expression when eating. Their eyes blink slowly, glossy as if tears would threaten to fall; snouts forever damp, tattered skin bruised and burned from various assailants and the monotonous sound of chewing. They knew I was different when I appeared 3 months ago. For the first couple of weeks, a couple of the brave ones would cautiously trot over peering at me with their glossy eyes, ears raised. When I would move close to them, they’d jump and scatter. It didn’t bother me, the way I came into existence was unnatural. They soon came to realise I wasn’t a threat and left me be. We lived a simple life; it was the purest way to live: wake, eat, sleep then repeat. Not like Humans who have no care for the world. My hooves clicked along the ground, sometimes dragging from exhaustion as I approached the trough near the bales of fresh hay.