Cow Pokin'.
Sep. 28th, 2001 07:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
logansrogueI'll tell you about where I live. It's across from the city's main showgrounds (or fair-ground for you yanks out there). The annual Royal Show is on this week, and so the place is totally filling up with animals. Across the road from us directly, just beyond the fence (we can see right into the grounds through the fence) is a loading bay for the bulls and cows. They park the big trucks, the cows get off and go down a ramp. They either live in the pens or the yards. The yards are across the road from us too.
This morning when I got up, I was treated to the smell of cow shit.
Anyways, apart from the new morning aroma, there are usually other rather interesting side effects. Mooing. Lots and LOTS of mooing. OH, it used to be worse when the ALL the animal pens were across the street. Pig shit (That's the WORST), chicken shit (teehee), llama shit, goat shit, sheep shit, and then there's the NOISE. Cock-a-doodle-dooing. And bleating and squealling and you freakin' well NAME it.
At least now it's just the cows. It can get interesting listening to the noises they make. You think they just go 'moo', but they don't. They go 'Mee-eee!' and 'Miieeuuuu!' And variants there-of. I like to try talking to them by mooing back out the front. I know, it's odd, but cows intrigue me. I like the bovine species. Which is also very sad because they're my favourite meat. I love beef. If I had to choose one meat to stick to for the rest of my life, it would be beef. I love beef. I also patted a pregnant cow once, and felt instantly guilty for being the beef lover. I've been mostly vegetarian recently, so I don't feel so bad.
Anyway, I'm digressing from the point of this tale. The point is, they take the cattle off these trucks across the road from us, and into their pens. There is usually one person per bovine, and if you've ever stood in front of a cow, you know you're wishing that bovine is in a good mood.
One bull, a red bull, wasn't in a good mood yesterday. He'd been cramped up on a truck, probably all the way from Bunbury or Pemberton (that's a long way away, like interstate for americans), and he'd been standing in his own piss for hours. He's reekin' of shit, the cow next to him won't shut up, and he's hungry as fuck for some fresh feed. His gigantic dangling balls are getting knocked around and cramped up in the small space too, so he's REALLY pissed.
He's got a plan. He's getting out of here. Sure, he doesn't know where the hell HERE is, but he guesses there's gotta be some good grass somewhere close by.
So he gets off the truck, down the ramp... la la la... RUN FOR IT!
He runs out of the carpark for the trucks waiting to unload animals. He's fast, and we mere mortal humans are no match for the animal that inspired the greeks so heavily in their mythology and worship. This monstrous red example of the male of the bovine species thunders through the gates that are VERY close to my house (within 50 metres), leaps gracefully over a wooden guard railing, and begins his escape down the street. Show staff and his owners race after him, waving their arms, trying to catch up the angry beast. Of course, the road he's running down is one that connects to a rather well used main road, and in the afternoon the traffic is a little more than the nothing it is usually. This great red animal is galloping towards three flashy looking dark blue cars. The suburb I live in is full of rich cosmopolitan types, so this heavy dusty bull with shit caked on his feet running headlong for them with red-rimmed pissed off eyes is not the thing they wanna see on the way home from the office. They probably had a double latte when THEY got home.
The bull stood in front of them, glared, sidestepped, probably swore at them in it's bovine mind, "Bloody yuppies!", and kept galloping off down the road.
That was the last I saw of him, and I don't know the dear animal's fate. I guess they got a hold of him eventually, and it's an example of what life is like around here for me. A strange blend of country livin' once a year and the city life for the rest. I like it.
This morning when I got up, I was treated to the smell of cow shit.
Anyways, apart from the new morning aroma, there are usually other rather interesting side effects. Mooing. Lots and LOTS of mooing. OH, it used to be worse when the ALL the animal pens were across the street. Pig shit (That's the WORST), chicken shit (teehee), llama shit, goat shit, sheep shit, and then there's the NOISE. Cock-a-doodle-dooing. And bleating and squealling and you freakin' well NAME it.
At least now it's just the cows. It can get interesting listening to the noises they make. You think they just go 'moo', but they don't. They go 'Mee-eee!' and 'Miieeuuuu!' And variants there-of. I like to try talking to them by mooing back out the front. I know, it's odd, but cows intrigue me. I like the bovine species. Which is also very sad because they're my favourite meat. I love beef. If I had to choose one meat to stick to for the rest of my life, it would be beef. I love beef. I also patted a pregnant cow once, and felt instantly guilty for being the beef lover. I've been mostly vegetarian recently, so I don't feel so bad.
Anyway, I'm digressing from the point of this tale. The point is, they take the cattle off these trucks across the road from us, and into their pens. There is usually one person per bovine, and if you've ever stood in front of a cow, you know you're wishing that bovine is in a good mood.
One bull, a red bull, wasn't in a good mood yesterday. He'd been cramped up on a truck, probably all the way from Bunbury or Pemberton (that's a long way away, like interstate for americans), and he'd been standing in his own piss for hours. He's reekin' of shit, the cow next to him won't shut up, and he's hungry as fuck for some fresh feed. His gigantic dangling balls are getting knocked around and cramped up in the small space too, so he's REALLY pissed.
He's got a plan. He's getting out of here. Sure, he doesn't know where the hell HERE is, but he guesses there's gotta be some good grass somewhere close by.
So he gets off the truck, down the ramp... la la la... RUN FOR IT!
He runs out of the carpark for the trucks waiting to unload animals. He's fast, and we mere mortal humans are no match for the animal that inspired the greeks so heavily in their mythology and worship. This monstrous red example of the male of the bovine species thunders through the gates that are VERY close to my house (within 50 metres), leaps gracefully over a wooden guard railing, and begins his escape down the street. Show staff and his owners race after him, waving their arms, trying to catch up the angry beast. Of course, the road he's running down is one that connects to a rather well used main road, and in the afternoon the traffic is a little more than the nothing it is usually. This great red animal is galloping towards three flashy looking dark blue cars. The suburb I live in is full of rich cosmopolitan types, so this heavy dusty bull with shit caked on his feet running headlong for them with red-rimmed pissed off eyes is not the thing they wanna see on the way home from the office. They probably had a double latte when THEY got home.
The bull stood in front of them, glared, sidestepped, probably swore at them in it's bovine mind, "Bloody yuppies!", and kept galloping off down the road.
That was the last I saw of him, and I don't know the dear animal's fate. I guess they got a hold of him eventually, and it's an example of what life is like around here for me. A strange blend of country livin' once a year and the city life for the rest. I like it.
