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A mooing story of a bull – it will moo u to tears!
(This is not a papal bull)
A long trek home after a day of graze. Moo,mooing around with fellow moos. Sharing grass without rolling it, and chewing the cud with Buff and Bully boy. Watched a moovie starring Roger Moove , he is so cool with his bovine moos. The girls they adore his moove over looks, and so do they Red Bull’s. Alas, they do not find
David Bovi(n)e fashionable anymore.
Bully Boy has found a new cow – Daisy; he now holds her sacred. Like Roger Moove in his cowboy roles, he now acts a cool cowboy around his cowgirl. We exclaim “holy cow!” only if we see a very pretty cow, it’s her divine looks, and nothing more, which we find sacred – a sacred cow; an expression that, for us, has real meaning.
These are bucolic days for us; young, free, resting under a tree and being phlegmatic. Letting grass grow under our feet and enjoy being put out to grass. There is nothing we love better than being close to the ‘grass roots’. Each day a grace spared from a butcher’s block. Sadly, cannot say the same for many of our kind. We have had many discussions on this with Wise Bull; the wisest one amongst us. Some loafer had recently taken a picture of him and put it on the web ; thus we have heard. Wise Bull , being the wise one he is, is not thrilled about all that publicity. He knows how fleeting fame and recognition are. He prefers a life of quiet contemplation .
Had so much fun, but now the day is gone. Must reach home soon ‘cause the night is close at my hooves. My master will soon begin to think ,where has that bull gone, and keep an anxious eye out for my approaching rotund form – his own load of bull . He does this daily till his cows come home. I better hurry, but not run, as once a bull ran, and someone reported a ‘bull run’; sending pulses soaring – without shares soaring – of those holding shares.
My master will shout at me for being late, but he is not known for hate. He speaks kind words to us and looks after us well. He holds no beef and eats no beef either. He will tell me not to be late or tomorrow he will show me no grace to graze. He somehow knows, I being a real bull, it never goes into my head. I could always come up with a cock and bull story, but he knows no ‘moo-tung’ – the language we speak. And I wonder anyways how he puts up with my daily bulls—t . Later it will be time to hit the hay, and again we mean what we say. Hope that darn dog is still not in the manger.
A t night my master will bring me a bucket of yummy grains soaked in water and tell me to eat. He will talk to me in his language and pat me on my head. I guess he tells me tomorrow you be good and do not be late. Though the words make no sense, and are really non-sense, kindness is a language that needs no translation . Sometimes I worry for my master, ‘cause though getting on with age, he still exerts himself as if he were still young , to carry out his chores. I wish I could make him understand it is okay to lie down, do nothing ,and eat grass for a change. It’s all well as long as he doesn’t smoke the thing; if not, he might think he is ‘really’ young again.
With many such days and nights closing in, one day you will see my form pass this way no more. With age setting in as nights closing in, and with joints locking up with time clocking by, with buff and bully boy long gone to pasture on the Big Grazeland in the sky , and my master too buried in a plot outside, reminiscing “oh those were the days, they were mooing times!” I would have begun my trek to reach my final home.
Kanages Ramesh (Monsoon(Bull)Frog) – Being Bullish!
“To All Bulls”