From the Perspective of a Cow in a Lovely Place

Hello. I am . . . me. I don’t have a name, really, that I am called by. Well, I have been given a name by the Ones. It is repeated as the Ones speak to me while milking or when walking up to me with a soft hand out, sometimes with grass or something sweet. Or I am called that by a young One who finds me and rubs my back and speaks. I do not know what that One says, but it is a quiet sound. I like it and I like the rub of the small hand and the pressure of the small body leaning on me. But still, it is not my true name. It’s not who I am. It’s not me. We have our own way of identifying our kind. I don’t know what it’s called, or how to describe it. Perhaps it’s the scent, or the size, or the eyes. Or just knowing who they are. Being with them. That’s how we tell one from the other.

I am so content here. I just feel… well. I enjoy the bright light from the sky. It warms me and I can see all around when it is up. The flicker of coolness makes me shiver with delight. It runs through my hair and through the grass at my feet. It makes the smells come alive. I can smell the earthiness. I hear the crickets and the soft steps of my companions and the machines the Ones are on. They go back and forth on a path I can’t see. Not often. But when they do, we listen to the hums. They are a part of here, and so we have accepted them as another sound.

We are in an area of grass and are moved by the Ones, with deep, gentle voices, when the air is cooler, after a long, long time of warmth from above. We trust them. They touch us softly. They make noises to us. We don’t know what they mean, but we listen anyways. We move to new, fresh grasses and legumes, and are quick to pick out our favorite—a legume that is low to the ground and sweet, with soft, delicate petals that fold into each other. Clover. From there, we take to our own delights. We all have our own favorites, after the soft-petalled one called Clover. There are different tastes. Some like the taller grasses, some the broader, some the sweeter, some the more filling grasses. We eat it all, wrapping our tongues around it and pulling it into our mouths. I can just taste the light and the earth that it grows on. I feel like I could be here forever.