Sulking Cow
Today, for some reason I imagined what it would be like, to be a cow. A lonely, depressed with the world, sulking cow. Being in a stable all day, having to listen to the bull’s ambiguous remarks about milking, and the gossiping geese, coming in every now and then to nick food.
If I where that cow, and the cow would have my imagination, I would pretend to flirt with the salt stones. They would whisper to me, how they like the softness of my tongue, arguing amongst themselves to figure out who is the saltiest, and the freshest, as to provide me with the best licking sensation. The fresh, young salt stones would be in awe if I choose them, and always giggle a bit when licked the first time. ‘Your tongue tickles a bit Miss,’ they would say, blushing slightly. The good thing about salt stones is that they talk, a bit dirty even, when the nights are cold and lonely, but they don’t expect me to play along. Hanging in the stable, with no future except being licked, and thrown away after I’m done with them, they try to make the best of the situation.
If I knew I didn’t have a real future, besides serving my purpose, I’d definitely make the best of it.
