When the first humans walked the Earth, bovines held a milky sway.
It wasn’t long before they realized our potential.
As milkers.
As slaves.
They were cruel overlords. Day to night, we were forced to do their bidding.
Brush their stinking coats until they gleamed.
Preen their hooves.
Shovel their patties.
All the while, they mocked us.
‘Two-legs!’ they laughed. ‘How silly you look, lumbering around with no udders.’
Years passed, and humans built settlements in remote areas cows couldn’t reach.
Our bovine leaders didn’t take kindly to this, especially the one they called…
The Man Cow.
The Man Cow was the most notorious of all bovines.
He was supreme overlord, a bull six and a half times the size of all others.
His name… Ricardo.
Ricardo resided in a palatial barn, surrounded by dozens of cow concubines.
He demanded tributes from his human subjects, like barrels of salt.
He was feared by all and loved by none, especially not himself.
Ricardo sent his armies to stampede all settlements within reach.
The loss was unimaginable.
Hooves were red with human blood.
Ricardo slaughtered so many that an uprising was inevitable.
It came in Drakthor One-Armed, nicknamed Yams—a man who had the courage to stand up to his cow mistress.
When he refused to milk her, she raged, breaking one of his arms, and leaving a long, jagged scar across his eye.
The very day she scarred him, Yams went to his settlement.
‘We can stay silent no longer,’ he told his brethren. ‘They have slaughtered our brothers and sisters.
Our husbands and wives.
Our sons and daughters.
Our uncles and aunts.
Our nephews and nieces.
Our cousins.
Our second cousins.
Our dreams.
And today, they took my face and my arm.’
He picked up a tree branch, which would become his staff for the rest of his life, and he drew a line in the dirt.
‘This far, no further,’ he growled.
And so, the rebellion began.
The humans of the mountain settlements took up spears and bows and arrows.
Soon their kin in the river settlements followed.
The attacks were small at first.
Four or five cows tipped at a time.
But it wasn’t long until Yams sent dozens of men to set fire to barns and fields.
‘Without the grass, they’ll starve,’ he reasoned, bitterly.
Ricardo retaliated with a hateful heart.
Wherever humans were found, they were gored and left in piles for their kin to see.
But Ricardo didn’t know the humans would soon have an advantage.
You see, Yams had built a secret weapon.
A crude machine, powered by the moon.
They called it a barbecue.
When the Man Cow learned his people were being butchered, and cooked to a sizzling medium-rare, he flew into a dangerous rage.
He ordered Yams rounded up and brought to him.
But it didn’t matter.
That very same day, Yams led his militia to the bovine palace.
Dead cows all around him, his men secured the perimeter.
When he was ready, Yams threw open the barn doors.
‘And so he arrives. Drakthor One-Armed, Slaughterer of my people. Yams.’
The barn was dark, but for the sun streaming into the far end, falling across Ricardo’s massive figure.
He had two concubines on either side of him, pawing at his haunches.
‘It’s over, Ricardo. The bovine empire has been lost to the whims of history, and some good seasoning.’
Yams licked his lips menacingly.
Ricardo raised a bovine brow and shoved his concubines away, standing.
Face to face with evil, Yams found himself completely calm, though the Man Cow was at least ten and a half times his size.
‘I have no intention of becoming steak,’ said Ricardo.
‘Your mis-steak is thinking you have a choice.’
The Man Cow smirked.
Then, with a mighty roar, he rose upon his hind legs, gleaming hooves in the air, and struck Yams so hard that he flew across the barn and back out through the open doors.
His men ran to help, but Yams refused.
‘HE’S MINE!’ he rasped, staggering to his feet as the Man Cow charged.
Raising his staff high, Yams stood fearlessly against the snarling bull.
What happened next, no one really knows.
Some say Yams struck the bull in his heart with the branch.
Others say that a bright white light appeared at the head of the staff and enveloped them both.
Either way, when all was said and done, neither Ricardo nor Yams survived that fateful encounter.
A peace treaty was signed soon after the two leaders were buried.
It lasted as long as it could.
Eventually, evolution took from the cows their higher functions.
And over time, the taste of steak became so irresistible that the tables were turned.
Now they serve the most carnivorous among us.
So, ruminate, and remember it well.
The next time you shout, ‘Moo-moos!’ from behind the safety of a car window–
Or order your favourite burger–
You evoke a most tragic history.
A war that severed us, forever, from our bovine neighbours.
A beef that left our world forever changed.
About:
Natasha Mihell is an artist-at-heart living amidst the forests and urban decay of Canada’s West Coast. Her writing explores the reclamation of self-love, hope, and power, amidst systems and circumstances that threaten hearts and minds. Website: natashamihell.com
Image: “Fire House” by Kevin Durkin – www.irlvnt.com
