Cows have a way of speaking. For much of the day I can hear them mooing contently in the barn yard. There’s a call for me to turn on their music, or to come to them in the morning to start the day. Then there’s the mournful, sorrowful call: a call that sends a feeling of panic and dread through my chest as I rush out the door to the pasture.
One warm, stormy night, the cows were spending their evening in the field. A pregnant cow wandered toward the stream as they do to cool off and and enjoy the feeling of being in the water. That night, near the stream, as the water level rose, her calf was born and drowned. I don’t know how it happened. Did she deliver in the stream: the feeling of the water soothing her as she went through the delivery? Or, did the the new calf stumble to the water while taking his first wobbly steps? I will never know.
The cow’s cries were of sorrow, panic, and distress. I found the still calf, brought him to an open stretch of grass for the mother to see and sniff. The other cows came too, joining us as we we sat and mourned the loss of the little life.
I can’t speak for all farmers, but for me, this is a life of magic, miracles, and at times loss. It’s my responsibility to care for these creatures as best I can: to provide them with the best food and music, lots of attention, and scratches behind the ears. We owe them respect. They are living, feeling creatures that deserve a marvelous life.
This sentiment may be difficult for some to understand knowing we raise cows for meat, but I know where my food comes from. I see these marvelous creatures through their life and have the privilege of respecting them and thanking them for what they give to us in the end. ~ Eric