Mr.Preston has been anxious recently.
His fences are torn, his business is wrecked, his workers’ ribs are broken, and they are putting out their two weeks notices. He has been moaning for days.
Why? He keeps asking himself. Why would such incomprehensible misfortune lands right on his head.
Because a cow ran away, in a formidable yet awesome way.
This particular cow, young, robust, and lustrous, suddenly decided to seek for freedom.
So she ran away.
The tragic story starts from several days ago.
Mr.Preston is a farmer in the South. He has a cow. Or, he had a cow.
He has paid so much time and energy and food and drink and other materials to her. And accordingly, efforts are paid back; the cow grows energetically, wholesomely, and amiably.
Good girl. Mr.Preston would sit on the balcony, overlook his ranch, seek for his cow, who is grazing disinterestedly on the ground, and murmur. Just behave, continue eating, and never think. And I shall sell you with a good price.
I mean, what can a cow do except for eating, sleeping, and being sold and killed?
Time passed by, and when the butcher house eventually sent people to take the cow away, one of the workers speculated her with satisfied yet concerning sight.
“Man, you gotta give her an anesthetic shot,” he said to Mr.Preston. “This chick could be a bit of a character. See the way she moves and hops around? Ya need to be careful.”
Mr.Preston smiled politely at that sincere young guy: “thanks for reminding. Yet, son, cows are cows, they wouldn’t do anything crazy.”
On the moment the cow was pulled out of the shed, she had realized something was wrong.
Her friends have been walking out of the door and have never returned. They vanished, suddenly, under the dazzling sun.
For the first time, she was awake. For the first time, she connected her own destiny to others’ results. The animal instinct spoiled what would happen—death. They were dead, and she will be dead. Spines, with the seeds of anxiety and uncertainty started growing, sprawling, and intertwining on every single inch of her body. She thought such adversity was only others’ stories, others’ life, others’ struggles. And now they were everywhere. In the water she drank, in the grass she ate, in the air she breathed. Sometimes when she was eating her food, she would feel like her friends are right in her grass and accompanying with her. But when it substantially came to her, she lost all of her faith, panicked, confused, then outraged.
So before stepping onto the truck, she hit the workers, got rid of the rope on him, then stampeded toward the edge of the ranch with full speed.
At this moment, somehow, she felt something what was either called aggression or courage.
And that experience was amazing—it was the path to freedom.
Medal fences were arrayed at the boundary. Humans were tackling her around. But she has had a taste of the freedom; it was impossible for her to obey and return to the fate that was designed by Preston, the so-called owner of her.
She did not stop.
She ran with her full speed.
Preston should invest more to install some stable hedges. She heard the fences shattered behind her back while she was challenging people with the muscular body and powerful determination.
Mr.Preston found his cow by a lake.
He was not happy about the drama earlier today. He was outrageous, he wanted to bring his cow back, he needed to send her to the butcher house again.
The cow saw him. She looked at the shining lake, turned back, glanced at Mr. Preston, without hesitation, she jumped into the water delightfully and started swimming toward the isle in the middle of the lake, with her back turning toward the poor owner.
Mr.Preston was shocked.
The situation has developed out of his knowledge.
No cow has dared to disobey. No cow has swum in front of him. No cow has scoffed him publicly with all these manners.
Firefighters arrived. This time, she dived and all the way swam to the other isle.
Firefighters and Mr.Preston stood on the edge of the lake, confused, wondered, shocked, while their eyesights moved as the cow was pursuing her freedom.
Mr.Preston contacted an aquatinted vet, and asked if he could shoot the cow with anesthesia. The vet checked his office and replied two days later—the shots have been out for a while.
“How about just kill that cow?” People suggested.
No. Mr.Preston shook his head. He still wants to sell her with a great deal.
It has been a week since the cow escaped. The statement continues. Facing the camera, the cow does not have any comment; she is busy with eating. But hers story has been prevailing around the country.
The famous feminist organization Women’s March announces its position through a corresponder that Miss Cow is an extraordinary model of female empowerment, the cooperation will provide fully support, and the theme for annual march will be about her.
Singer, social activist, former politician Hannah Linton advocated for saving this heroine cow, and keeping her from being killed.
“If all the people in this nation are having such courage as her, United States will definitely become a more progressive country,” she cries during the interview. “I am not a vegan, but this incident urges me to reevaluate eating meat—this cow—her boldness and dedication of fighting for her life is priceless.”