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Cutter Talk

23 May 2009 No Comment

Cow comes to me at night, near the swamp by the old Sasparilla field. I wondered why as the smell of peppermint or anything minty sickens him. He asked me quietly if I could get rid of the the new bull that arrived at the farm. What bull, I ask, Tim or Rocky? Tim is a fat fellow, his previous farmer bulked him up on hormones and lard. Rocky is far too muscular, they say he was kept in a city kid’s backyard and ran around in circles all day and night.

Tim, he said, Stacey’s been eying him, giving him that heavy cow eye look. And the bells, the cow bells keep going clang, clang, all day long in the field, drives me crazy!

I’m a pigeon, I said, what can I do?

Send a message to the slaughter house, have them pick him up.

I can’t fly, I’m metal, I say.

Yeah and I’m a cookie cutter, shut up. He says. After that, Cow became quiet and avoided Stacey. Later, we found him lying in the field, limp and rusted. We called the slaughter house.

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