“Tomorrow when they open the gates,
do not follow me,” the cow they called Judas said to me.
“Why not?” I asked, for I was new
to the pasture.
“They take you do your death!” he
cried.
“That is absurd. Everyone knows they
take you to Sunshine Valley where the grass is always tall and green.
You don't get to go because you have no faith.”
“It is true! None who go ever
return!”
“Here we have this field where there
is hay and a roof over our heads and room to stretch and graze. I am
milked daily so that my udders do not swell. If they wanted to kill
us, why would they take such care of us?”
“They intend to eat you!” Judas
said. “They carve the flesh from your bones and devour your body.”
“Nonesense. They have no claws, no
sharp teeth. They lack the speed of wolves. Ha! As though these few
creatures could overpower us or consume so many.”
“I know what I know,” said Judas
and walked away.
The following day, we followed him up a
ramp, but he was diverted at the last minute to another pen, his
punishment for having no faith in Sunshine Valley. As I walked up the
ramp, however, I couldn't shake what he had said. I decided, though
too late for the decision to actually mean anything, that even if we
were being led to the slaughter, the caretakers have been nothing but
kind to me. I will not do them the unkindness of breaking our trust
now.
- Originally mailed to J. Cox of New Oreleans, Louisiana
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