Holy Cow (2 page)
Authors: David Duchovny
“That’s where life happens—out in the field.”
Here’s how it goes:
Monday
SUNRISE:
Get milked. You’re lucky if you get the middle son or the youngest, the eldest chump is very rough with his hands. He just does not want to be there. I get it, dude, it’s way early, but still.
AFTER MILKING:
The gates open and out we go into the field, where we’ll spend most of the day eating, chewing, talking, gossiping, etc. That’s where life happens—out in the field. Sweet green grass and sweeter alfalfa hay.
LATE AFTERNOON:
Back into the barn for the night. Another milking and then we usually go to sleep at sundown. We’re at one with the rhythms of the earth and whatnot. When my mom was around, she used to tell me stories. I liked the ones where humans act like animals. My mom was a great storyteller, and usually I would fall asleep to the sound of her voice like it was the wind rustling gently through the trees or a brook running over stones.
And then Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are exactly the same.
Pretty simple, right? Wake up, milking, eat, day in the field, milking, story, sleep. That was enough for me. I never wanted anything more. I never wanted to live anywhere else. And I wanted the same for my daughters and their daughters forever and always, even though I could never imagine leaving them the way my mother left me. That is, until the Event, the day the earth stood still, the patty-and-fan thing. Then I understood it all, even Mom. And though the knowledge was painful, it led to forgiveness and understanding, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Innocence is nice, but the world offers us more and it’s wrong not to take it. You can’t stay a calf forever.
We’re almost there. You getting frustrated with all the preamble? The mood lighting? That’s the problem with you crazy kids and the video games—no patience. Well, cow time is slow, and I will not be rushed. Gotta go do my job, then a nap, I like me a solid nap. Then the Event.
Okay, I’m back. Let’s get into it. Hopefully, I’ve set the scene for you, the way a farm works in a live-and-let-live manner, the way we understand we’re here to provide services to the humans in return for food, shelter, and safety. We didn’t ask to come here, right? Did you know that cows are not indigenous to North America? No. My ancestors, my great-great-great-great-great-etc.-grandmother came from somewhere in what humans call the Middle East. That’s where the Maker made us and first put our hooves on the ground. They called it the land of milk and honey. And guess who provided the milk? Though I’m told that goats also get milked by humans. Are you kidding me? Come on. No offense, but goat’s milk does not compare with cow’s milk, unless you’re a goat kid. Have you ever seen a cow trying to drink milk from a goat? Case closed.
And now I hear stories of humans milking something called an “almond,” and another called a “soy.” I’ve never seen a wild almond or a soy galloping about in its natural habitat, but cow milk is the best. I’d bet three of my four stomachs on it. Of course I’m biased, what else could I be? Bias makes the world go round, sometimes a little too fast. But I digress. And maybe digression isn’t really digression, maybe the shortest distance between two mind points is not a straight line. Chew on that.
So there I am, three years old. Mom gone who knows where, but I’m okay. I’m living my life and looking forward to having kids of my own. I’m even looking over the fence at some of those bulls and thinking, “Eh, not so bad.” I never thought I’d say that, but that’s kind of where I was, and it kind of led me to where I am. So one day, me and my bff Mallory were whispering to each other. Mallory is seriously gorgeous, like she could definitely model. She could be the cow on the milk carton. I’ll give you the dialogue, but keep in mind it’s not word-for-word, this is an approximation. I’m not a tape recorder. I’m not an elephant. Though I have some friends who are elephants. Super-cool mammals. Good people. Here it is:
MALLORY
I don’t know, Elsie, but I kinda wanna go hang out with the bulls all of a sudden. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
ELSIE
(that’s me!)
I know. Me too.
MALLORY
What’s wrong with us? When that young bull Frank stomps around and snorts, I get a funny feeling inside and I don’t even care that he’s got boogers totally all over his nose.
ELSIE
I know, I know. I think my mother told me about this, but only kind of. She said that one day the things that interested me then would be boring, and the things that bored me would be interesting.
MALLORY
Your mom was so cool. Where’d she go?
ELSIE
Yeah. Dunno. Same place as your mom, I guess.
MALLORY
Yeah.
ELSIE
Have you noticed the eldest son sometimes forgets to latch the gate after he milks us? Next time he does it, why don’t we just go out and talk to the bulls?
MALLORY
But they’ll see us.
ELSIE
We’ll do it at night!
MALLORY
You’re so smart! The nighttime is the right time. I don’t even know where that came from.
ELSIE
Who are you right now?
MALLORY
I do not know! I’m totes cray-cray. Oh, look at what that bull Frank is doing right now. Or is that Steve?
ELSIE
That’s Steve.
MALLORY
Yeah, look at him stomp and snort. He is so cool. Good ol’ Steve.
ELSIE
I thought you liked Frank.
MALLORY
I do. Frank is the bomb. I kinda like them all.
And then we had a bull session, talked about bulls for about twenty minutes, but I won’t tell you what was said ’cause it’s private, and I haven’t gotten in touch yet with Mallory to make sure she can be a character in my story. My editor says I need clearance. And Mallory is not her real name. It isn’t.
And see how that whole scene was kinda written in what’s called “screenplay form”? My editor loves that stuff. Big-shot Hollywood producers take note, this practically shoots itself.
So that’s what we did. We waited. Seems like we waited forever. The eldest boy, the one with the pimples and the cell phone, all of a sudden got very conscientious about closing the gate, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Humans are very easily distracted. Especially by their phones. They have a weird and unnatural attachment to those gadgets. I’m not judging, but it’s weird. All right, maybe I am judging. I knew what to do. It was only a matter of time.
Sure enough, the time came and I seized it. The eldest was milking me. Roughly, I might add. Look, this isn’t a gossipy tell-all; I’m not here to grind axes and settle scores, but sometimes I just gotta calls ’em likes I sees ’em. The brother was rough on the teats. Plus, he’s got like the thumb of one hand distractedly on his phone the whole time he’s manhandling me. Since then, I have come to learn this is called “texting,” and it’s a way for people to tell one another stupid things about their day. Oh look, here’s a picture of my lunch with an oh-so-witty caption. Oh look, here’s a picture of me making a silly face, and another picture of a different face. Selfies, they call ’em, and that makes sense ’cause even though they’re sending these pictures to others, it still smells like selfish to me. Is that why they call it an “I phone”? ’Cause it’s all about me me me. Like talking to hear yourself talk. Why don’t they just communicate in person like normal animals? There’s much about people I do not understand.
So there he is, texting away and taking a picture of me and laughing and pressing
SEND
, and I didn’t really appreciate that, so at the perfect moment I just kind of kicked with my right hind leg, not hard to hurt the boy, just hard enough to make him drop his phone.
But first, to set the stage, I had to poop. Pooping while you’re getting milked is one of life’s great pleasures. You should try it sometime. So I pooped, kicked a little, and he dropped his phone right into what you all call a cow patty. Now I know you think cow patties are gross or a source of humor, but to us, they just are. Another thing about humans I don’t quite get is how disgusted they are with poop, even their own. They can’t get away from it fast enough, and whenever they step in ours, they curse and try to get it off their boots really fast. Plus, they think poop is totally funny. Like it’s the setup of all these jokes they tell one another. I don’t get it, man, it’s just poop. Poop and farts. What? That make you uncomfortable? That’s your problem, Cochise. We all do it. We all do it lots. No big deal. Poopy poop poop fart farty fart fartalicious poopiosity etc.—got it out of your system? And stop blaming me and my gas for global warming. I can’t drive a car. Can we move on now?
His phone goes ploop—right into the poop. Ever seen a cow laugh? No, ’cause we do it in private, like Japanese women. I turned away and started laughing, but I kinda faked like I had something in my throat and was coughing. He was pissed! Actually slapped me on the rump. Didn’t hurt. You people are small and weak. And then he has to dig his precious phone out of my poop. You think people don’t like stepping in poop, man oh man, do they not like getting their hands anywhere near it even more! But he has to. ’Cause it’s his phone. If he dropped his phone into a shark’s mouth, he’d go in there to retrieve it. Or a volcano. It’s like the most important thing in the world.
So his phone is like a quarter of the way in my poop. Standing up straight, like it’s surprised to be there. And the boy has to deal with it. He gets down there, and ever so gingerly, like a pimply King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, he rescues his phone. And then he wipes it on me ’cause he’s mad. Like he’s punishing me. What do I care? It’s my poop. He starts muttering under his breath, grabs the pail of my milk, and stomps out of the barn. And guess what? He forgets to shut the gate. :) Doesn’t that mean “smiley face” when you text? Well, here I am, smiling. I wish there were a cow face smiling, but there isn’t a way to make it on the keyboard. :(
Yet. :)
You like that? Chapter titles and whatnot. I’ve been doing that since the beginning of my story. Fancy, I know, but I want to highlight the concept.
What the open gate means is that, come nightfall, Mallory and I are gonna be able to sneak out and go wherever we want. To the bulls, to the ball game—wherever. The gate opens into a whole new world. Mallory and I are so excited. Especially her. To see Frank, or Steve, or Dino, or whomever. No doubt you’ve noticed that one of a cow’s best features is our long, impossibly thick, luxurious eyelashes. Human women would die for our eyelashes. Come on now, don’t be a hater. Every species, like everyone, has a strong point or two. Heavenly eyelashes are one of ours.
Mallory is in her stall applying cow mascara to make her eyelashes even more beautiful, and I suppose make her irresistible to Frank or Steve or whomever it is she thinks she has a crush on. Cow eyeliner is basically some good clean dirt, then you add a touch of water and lay your face down in the mud and then shake your head. If you’re lucky more of the dirt will adhere to the lashes and less around your mouth, which is not a good look. Mallory does this and then I do her the solid of licking her face to get the excess dirt. She looks amazeballs. No doubt Frank or Steve is going to find her the most beautiful cow in the world. I’m just excited to get out past the gate. I mean, yeah, I’m kinda into the bulls, but in a way I don’t quite get, so I’m a little afraid of it, but really, I’m just looking for adventure. That’s the kind of cow I am.
Mallory and I can barely contain our excitement. The day crawls by like a human baby on all fours. It’s like the sun decided not to move in the sky; it’s just hanging there. It’s so hard not to tell anybody about our plans, but we know that if we did that we could ruin it. I notice this one pig looking at me funny, with his head tilted, and a little smile. This pig is named Jerry. So I say, “What, you never saw a cow before?” And I say, “Take a picture, babe, it’ll last longer.” And he kinda turns away. That’s how you handle pigs, gotta be super straightforward ’cause they’re really smart at the circuitous-logic-type stuff, too smart for their own good. You gotta psych ’em out. They overthink—so a direct shot will short-circuit them and make them wanna take a nap. Which is what Jerry does. Like I gave him a mental karate-chop sedative. Handled that. I’m like a Jedi sometimes.
Finally, the sun starts to dip beneath our western horizon, maybe my favorite moment of any day. Dusk. Sunset. Love it. Night will not be too far behind, and with night, an adventure, one that will change my life forever.
