tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27068668.post2367037308354911219..comments2024-03-25T19:37:33.706+11:00Comments on Cat Politics: Autumn Racing Carnival 2009 – Week 6 - Super SaturdayAnne Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14258633760886787723noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27068668.post-70215112456803223482009-03-12T18:52:00.000+11:002009-03-12T18:52:00.000+11:00a friend of mine works where DivaMakybe foals ...a...a friend of mine works where DivaMakybe foals ...<BR/><BR/>and wrote: on sensitivity of cows<BR/><BR/>It is dusk. As I sit on the veranda a lone cockatoo flies silently by, high in a fading sky. I wonder where is it going, solo and soundless.<BR/>Half a dozen cows, only metres away, greedily rip and tear the kikuyu that has spilled into the paddock from the lawn. The sound of their chewing is gentle and soothing. They are filling up their tummies in preparation for a cool night ahead. You've got to wonder about cows alimentary canals. It's pretty weird when you think about it. Four stomachs, a cud-chewing capacity. Probably best not to give it too much thought, so soon after dinner.<BR/>Here in the Hunter, in a private, secluded, valley, up a windy track that runs alongside a creek, I live, surrounded by cows and horses. I watch them every day and I'm beginning to think that cows are much smarter or at the least much more sensitive than they're generally given credit for.<BR/>The other day I walked up the track to a paddock where I know there to be<B> a band of broodmares. Recently these mares had to suffer the loss of their foals. Foals they have guarded with their lives that they risked their lives to bear, that they have fed and nurtured for months. It's weaning time. I guess they get used to it, year in and year out, I doubt I ever will.<BR/>All night foals screamed from the yards. All night their mothers called back from the hills. It was heartbreaking.</B> A few days later I went to check on the mares. Not my animals, I have no business checking them, but nobody else bothers much. Mares can sometimes get mastitis at weaning time. Or so I rationalised. But was it more that I wanted to commiserate with them, to offer condolences, to tell them I was on their side, that I thought it was so unfair, that life, was so terribly unfair.<BR/>I found them not far from the road. Twenty lovely mares, pregnant again, grazing madly. They allowed me to walk up to them. Hello girls. How you doing? It was late afternoon and I stood on the side of a hill looking over a panorama of grassy rolling hills dotted with trees. The wind rasped against my face. I started to weep. There is something tragic about the nobility and beauty of horses. The mares kept grazing ignoring the weeping form in front of them, but as I looked down the hill I saw a cow in a small herd, looking intently at me. I cannot describe her expression in any other way than it being one of kindness and compassion. I looked back, surprised by her intent and intelligent gaze. She blinked once or twice but kept looking at me. I got up, took a few deep breaths, and headed homeBwcaBrowniehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11500142856655553009noreply@blogger.com