A Cow's Tale



I was born into a family living in an intensive system of management. A system known for high quality feeding, good housing and management, though very expensive. Being born there wasn’t my choice rather a great privilege to be calved there, as many of my kind are either living in a “semi” type of this system or a nomadic life.


Despite being the only one my dam gave birth to. I shared her mammary gland with a sort of milk sucking machine because she had more than enough to satisfy my ever-growing appetite. Things took a different turn when I was weaned (too early for me) and transferred to another but larger, place where I met others that we were of the same age group, type and size. I realized that living in this “high class” system is to get the best out of us. Each one of us is destined for different purpose. The personnel in charge of us did not understand our language and neither did we understand theirs but we both played along nicely.


I initially thought good intentions were meant for me and few others when we were further separated either because of our size, some sort of parental records which wasn’t impressive and or because the bigger and stronger ones were bullying us. The 2 balls dangling ventrally between our hind limbs were removed painlessly, after injecting us with some sort of transparent liquid. I later realize that those balls are essential for me to procreate (that was very painful).


We were fed ad-libitum and seriously cared for until we reached a size the personnel called market size or weight. It was then we realized that they are only fattening us to make a good meal for themselves and their kinds.


Some of us were gladly exchanged for some bundles of neatly arranged and packed notes and then carried away in giant four – wheel trucks. Others including me were taken to a place called lirage which leads to a place of horror they call abattoir.


Abattoir; a place of horrifying sights on a numerous blood splash background coupled with sounds of severe pains, fear and sharp instruments of different types and sizes clattering bones into pieces and piercing through raw flesh. A place you enter in one piece but exit in chunked economic parts. Only ill-health or certain conditions can temporarily save you from this de-animalizing act.


As we were being lined up and filed in into this horrible destination where we were doomed to die, I overheard these wicked beings called humans deliberating on what they would process our carcasses into. The evil list in their blood-filled hands consists of numerous products tagged “animal products and by-products”. Everything about us was useful for them.


I could not completely phantom what I would be used for or processed into as the thought was halted by the feeling of a sharp object cutting through my throat and something escaping through the site of havoc. That was after the personnel holding the sharp object said a small prayer. What kind of prayer is this? I wondered but I couldn’t conclude.


adapted from the Summit Magazine (AssanUI)

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