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Set in an imaginary Ireland of the 1950s, a simpler and less industrial time. A summer's day, blue skies, green fields, bad roads and a large grey building. A place where a factory cattle truck is received by a herdsman with a unique talent.
The lorry juddered noisily to a halt by the ramp. The animals within were skittish and traumatised — the smell of the place drove them to near panic. The driver, a sallow-faced man, cigarette dangling from his lips, nodded to the supervisor as he dropped the tailgate, then lashed viciously at the frightened cattle with a blackthorn stick.
“Hai! Hai! G’wan ow’r dat!”
The beasts shambled out, all saucered-eyes and flattened ears. They raced past the blackthorn, bawling, to cluster nervously at the far side of a cast-iron pen. The supervisor recorded their number and passed a docket to the driver.
“Ye scared d’livin’ shite ou’rr of ’em, Paddy!”
The driver hawked and spat. “T’was d’shite road. Fierce stupid not ta fix dem feckin’ potholes.”
The supervisor grinned. “Shur, ’tis of little matter. Haven’t we got an ‘expert’ to settle ’em now!” He pointed to a figure in blue overalls striding towards the pen and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially “Foreign, y’know. Odd. But by God, he’s got a way with dem beasts. Watch him.”
The expert vaulted the railing to walk calmly amidst the anxious herd.
“Mother o’ God —”
Paddy pushed his hat back to rub his brow, shaking his head all the while. The supervisor nodded. “I told yeh,” he said.
A stillness crept over the pen. The expert stroked a snout here, a flank there, crooning softly to his charges as he moved among them. Paddy watched him in silence, realising with a cold chill that the herd accepted the expert as one of them. As a leader. Each beast looked up reverentially at their soft-eyed, smiling benefactor, expressing their trust and faith, as he gently guided them — willingly — into the building.
“If’n I didn’t see dat wi’ me own eyes …” breathed Paddy, awestruck.
Inside the abattoir, the day’s slaughtering, butchering and packing began, like every other day.
Trembling and upset, the expert stood by the washroom sink. This job destroyed him … yet his mirrored reflection was without emotion or expression. He lowered his eyes and sighed. No wonder the unfortunate animals trusted him.
The minotaur, an expert, headed back to the unloading bay.
Another truck was due soon.
oOoThe lorry juddered noisily to a halt by the ramp. The animals within were skittish and traumatised — the smell of the place drove them to near panic. The driver, a sallow-faced man, cigarette dangling from his lips, nodded to the supervisor as he dropped the tailgate, then lashed viciously at the frightened cattle with a blackthorn stick.
“Hai! Hai! G’wan ow’r dat!”
The beasts shambled out, all saucered-eyes and flattened ears. They raced past the blackthorn, bawling, to cluster nervously at the far side of a cast-iron pen. The supervisor recorded their number and passed a docket to the driver.
“Ye scared d’livin’ shite ou’rr of ’em, Paddy!”
The driver hawked and spat. “T’was d’shite road. Fierce stupid not ta fix dem feckin’ potholes.”
The supervisor grinned. “Shur, ’tis of little matter. Haven’t we got an ‘expert’ to settle ’em now!” He pointed to a figure in blue overalls striding towards the pen and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially “Foreign, y’know. Odd. But by God, he’s got a way with dem beasts. Watch him.”
The expert vaulted the railing to walk calmly amidst the anxious herd.
“Mother o’ God —”
Paddy pushed his hat back to rub his brow, shaking his head all the while. The supervisor nodded. “I told yeh,” he said.
A stillness crept over the pen. The expert stroked a snout here, a flank there, crooning softly to his charges as he moved among them. Paddy watched him in silence, realising with a cold chill that the herd accepted the expert as one of them. As a leader. Each beast looked up reverentially at their soft-eyed, smiling benefactor, expressing their trust and faith, as he gently guided them — willingly — into the building.
“If’n I didn’t see dat wi’ me own eyes …” breathed Paddy, awestruck.
Inside the abattoir, the day’s slaughtering, butchering and packing began, like every other day.
Trembling and upset, the expert stood by the washroom sink. This job destroyed him … yet his mirrored reflection was without emotion or expression. He lowered his eyes and sighed. No wonder the unfortunate animals trusted him.
The minotaur, an expert, headed back to the unloading bay.
Another truck was due soon.
oOoCategory Story / Human
Species Mammal (Other)
Size 119 x 120px
File Size 2.5 kB
Within the past several years I listened to a show on All Things Considered about a mildly autistic woman who seemed to have a similar gift with the cattle as the character above, though she managed it without the horns. She was instrumental in pushing through a number of changes in the system that resulted in far less cruelty and pain through the process.
One thing I remember particularly is curving the walls of the ramp - cows are frightened by straight walls especially those going down or up, because they don't occur in nature or something. Curve the walls, and everything goes far more smoothly.
One thing I remember particularly is curving the walls of the ramp - cows are frightened by straight walls especially those going down or up, because they don't occur in nature or something. Curve the walls, and everything goes far more smoothly.
This one hurt, and also called forth an unbidden memory when I was at the veterinary hospital.
A woman had brought in an elderly shepherd mixed breed female and wanted us to put her
down because she was becoming incontinent, hip dysplastic and not greeting her food
with a glad cry. She didn't want to be there when it was done, and the poor scared beastie
wouldn't hold still for the doctor to slip the needle into a vein and pump that 10cc of pink
liquid death into her veins, so I was asked to hold her. Though I was a stranger, the dog snuffled and licked my ear and settled quietly into my arms, her tail thumping against my side as I held and talked to her. Then the vet gave the shot and she suddenly went from being a live presence in my arms to a limp weight. I felt so unclean afterward , like I played Judas Iscariot and betrayed her innocent trust...
A woman had brought in an elderly shepherd mixed breed female and wanted us to put her
down because she was becoming incontinent, hip dysplastic and not greeting her food
with a glad cry. She didn't want to be there when it was done, and the poor scared beastie
wouldn't hold still for the doctor to slip the needle into a vein and pump that 10cc of pink
liquid death into her veins, so I was asked to hold her. Though I was a stranger, the dog snuffled and licked my ear and settled quietly into my arms, her tail thumping against my side as I held and talked to her. Then the vet gave the shot and she suddenly went from being a live presence in my arms to a limp weight. I felt so unclean afterward , like I played Judas Iscariot and betrayed her innocent trust...
Playing catch up here.
I truly envy your ability to stir up a wide range of emotions in me with only a handful of carefully picked words. But I will add my vote to Poetigress'. I would dearly love to know so much more about this place and these people. More specifically, the minotaur.
Thank you for sharing your talent with us.
I truly envy your ability to stir up a wide range of emotions in me with only a handful of carefully picked words. But I will add my vote to Poetigress'. I would dearly love to know so much more about this place and these people. More specifically, the minotaur.
Thank you for sharing your talent with us.
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