Cow Stories

A wee story inspired by seeing Peaches play live at Sonar.

By Dave Marcia

It was an exquisite spring morning, one which bathed the whole of Farmer Brown's land in the crisp, primal bite of sunlight as the dawn collapsed back over the horizon. The Cow heaved its ample bodyframe aloft its steady legs, gave a little yawn, and tottered towards the finest patch of grass in the field. Breakfast. As he masticated in his usual thorough manner, the finer points of Foucalt's writings on discourse swam around his brain. Just as he had ruminated his way into a startling connection between the aforementioned and both Marxist-Aristotelian logic and Kantian ethics, Farmer Brown strolled along.

'Morning, Cow', said Farmer Brown.
'Morning, Farmer Brown', said Cow, 'How are you today?'
'Hmmm...', said Farmer Brown, munching pensively on a piece of straw, 'Well, I can't complain, I suppose, what with my lovely farm, my nice farmhouse, and all my friends on the farm, not least of all you, Cow...'
'But?' said Cow, tipping his head to the side in an almost coquettish manner, widening his eyes to show interest.
'Well, it's just this country fair we have coming up, Cow. I've heard around the market that some farmers want to put in entries to the competitions that are deliberately bad!'
'What, you mean they might put in a grubby unkempt pig for the Prize Porker rally? Or a very small marrow in the growers' competition?' asked the shocked bovine, visibly agog at the mere thought.
'Precisely, Cow! Perhaps even a gherkhin!', replied the farmer, equally stunned.
'But that's ridiculous!' cried Cow, 'the whole point of the fair is to spend time, skill and energy crafting the finest entry in each category! Why, there'd be as little point in that as there would be in purposely drawing a terrible picture, or building a television that would be broken and obselete in a few small year's time!'
'I quite agree, Cow, I quite agree', said Farmer Brown, his brow knitted and furrowed in equal measure, 'but they claim they're being all ironic, subverting the festival and what it stands for. The worst thing is, all the people in the Town love the idea of small vegetables and ugly porkers, and are ready to cheer at their loudest for these silly efforts.'
'Bloody post-post-modernists!' snorted the cow, spitting out a particularly toothsome strawberry in a fit of rancourous pique. 'It's all very well satirising various cultural mores, but what's the use if no-one knows it's a parody? What's the point in telling a joke to the world if nobody gets the punchline? All you're left with is a bunch of crazed ninnies dancing around at a cider lunch in honour of the artistry of doggerel! Did Picasso just not know where the ears went? I ask you!'
'Well, Cow, you know I'm not one for extremism, but if you ask me the whole world's a toilet, needs a damn good flushing, and make no mistake.'
Cow moo-ed in appreciation. 'Let them stew in their juice, I say,' prompting an evasive look of alarm from his friend, 'but they'd bloody well not come running to me when there's no such thing as truth anymore.'
'Well, with all due respect, Cow,' said Farmer Brown, 'I find it unlikely that, in the face of the collapse of objective reason and rational thought, the human race entire will flock to a cow in my field looking for answers. If you takes my meaning, likes.'
'Hmmph', said the cow, neglecting to highlight the inbuilt fallacies in the farmer's comment. 'Haven't you got work to do?'
'Very true, Cow, very true', said Farmer Brown, 'Suppose I'd best be off, then'. Gathering himself, picking up his tools, he trudged on up the path to the red wooden barn at the top of the hill. 'Goodbye, Cow', he said over his tweeded shoulder, as the squaks of hens began to fill the morning air.
'Goodbye, Farmer Brown', said Cow, watching him disappear. He had a feeling, as he plucked and chewed a dandelion, watching the sun rise ever higher into the sky, that it was going to be one of those days again...
 Originally published on the Stuff Records website
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