Don’t you like fresh milk?
It smells like a cow.
No. It’s her tears that have such smell.
Cows don’t cry.
They do honey, they do. You just don’t see. . . or you don’t want to notice. . . . You’re afraid that if you notice, then. . . . Yes, honey, yes. That’s exactly what you thought.
You call it roaring. Sometimes loud. Sometimes just tears roll silently. .
And they are silent. . . animals. Silent.
You would like to think that they don’t think, don’t understand.
And they do not understand, . . . they cry and think – why? Why so meanly?
You loved him. Her son – the little calf. Watered from a teat. . . caressed. . .
And then killed. . . Gave to destroy. . . When it’s meanly, everyone understands it. . . .
She doesn’t want another calf. Doesn’t want to give birth to a son who will be killed again.
Her milk won’t be useful anymore. . . For the Children. . . . Your children. . .
It is with tears. . . . And blood.
She wanted to be loved, and all she found for Life was this body – the body of a Cow.
And you think you’re higher. That you have the right to take everything away. . . .
Destroy the child, her child, her little one. . . . Take away even a brief happiness. . . from a bull. . . . Her Bull. Just “inseminate”. . . .
So, soon your children will also be “inseminated”.
Already? . . .
Only to yourself, you call it differently.
You think you’re smart. And brave.
Then take an encephalogram from a cow when her calf is taken to the slaughterhouse. . . when it is herded to the place where the cattle are “slaughtered”. . . when her child is “slaughtered”. . . .
Or is the “scientific” courage not enough?
You ate her son, too, didn’t you?