Posted Jul 18th, 2006 at 09:37 PM by Geoffry
My first column or essay or whatever it is called. Just an observation of life. Well, an observation of cows. (I told you it wasn't going to be as serious like some other blogs).
I hate them, yet I am surrounded by them. That’s what you get when your parents decide to conceive you in a village where the lack of ambience is compensated by the depressing sight of its endless fields. Not just any fields though: Flanders’ Fields. Flanders’ world-famous fields on which courageous soldiers fought ninety years ago are now ‘inhabited’ by… cows.
I, for one, like to use the word ‘cow’ as a term of abuse, knowing every bad human characteristic – from asocial behaviour to being just too damn noisy - can be found in a cow . I imagine myself riding my bike on a small road with fields as the only thing in sight. Of course, disturbing the view that might lead me to inner peace are our dearest cows. And no, they won’t stand in a group so you could avert your eyes and look in the other direction without cows. There just isn’t such a direction. The bloody ‘black and whites’ are scattered throughout the fields, being as asocial as one can be. The rules of the mating game have obviously passed Mrs. Cow and Mr. Bull by. Obviously annoyed, I try to leave the fields with its cows, but realise they just never end. Guided by excruciating lowing, I lock yourself once more in my house.
‘Cowmania’, I often like to call it. They stare at you until you’re mentally exhausted from staring back. People, you cannot win a staring competition with a cow. Remember that. While they’re staring at you, they’re chewing. Chewing on grass. The same grass they were chewing on the last time you passed by – three weeks ago. You cannot take it. You’re disgusted by their antics, exhausted by their attitude and probably petrified by the numerous bugs that fly around them. Once again, you’re near a mental breakdown, which forces to retreat in your house.
Is there a solution? Move. Probability of moving? Zero percent. Am I doomed to be surrounded by the things I hate the most? Yes, I am. There is however comfort…
The comfort lays in the fact that I pity them in a way. They have no meaning in life – hell, they don’t even realise they exist – besides the liquid that comes out of their gigantic nipples. Yes, I hear you, gigantic nipples may be an advantage, but not if an old, crooked farmer pulls on them every other day. The pity even increases when you come to realise that they have no self-respect whatsoever. No, a self-respecting creature does not chew on something it has shitted on a few hours back. And for the carnivore that is me; their only purpose in life lays in their death. Oh, can we say… irony?
May I conclude with a sentence I treasure (because I invented it): cows as a being I hate, cows as a product I adore.