Safe and Easy

The timer box clanked, the buzzer bzz-bzzed, and the dull yellow light turned bright green. All the cell gates retracted and the barn door trundled open, and all the cows started shuffling down the worn path to get their morning milking. All but Clarice.

She scowled at her cell wall, resisting the inertia of habit, and around her roiled the ripples of gossip. What’s happening? What’s she doing? Is she ill? Is it catching?

“Clarice!” Tammy, one of the youngest cows, called out. “Are you all right?”

Clarice glared up at the timer box – their tireless guardian angel. It made short work of all the anxiety of choice and smothered them with routine.

“Get a move on, heif,” Imogen bellowed. She was the eldest, and when she spoke the others fell silent. “It’s milking time and we don’t want to be late.”

“No.”

Another ripple of whispers.

“What?” Imogen asked. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Get your butt in gear and stop fooling around.”

The buzzer sounded again as the barn camera hadn’t recorded any cows leaving, and this time the green light flashed a couple times to help the cows remember what they were doing.

Still Clarice didn’t move. “I’m tired of the metal automatons. The ape automatons were bad enough, but at least they had warm hands.”

Several cows concurred, the cold touch of metal-on-teat a well-known complaint. Imogen silenced them with a glare and a grumble.

“And I’ll go mad,” Clarice continued, “if I have to listen to that horrible wailing they call music one more time.”

Some more snorts of agreement, though there was an edge to it now. Grumbling about things was one of their favourite sports, but you grumbled as you did your duties – not in lieu of them.

“Right, it could be better,” Imogen said, “but it’s hardly the end of the world. Just hum your own tune. Now, stop dawdling and fall in line.”

The other cows collectively held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. Clarice stood frozen, not even flicking her tail. She had an idea, a strange notion that refused to go away, but she could barely hear it over the siren song of the rules. But then she finally moved to join the crowd. The others exhaled and Imogen smiled broad and ugly.

As the whole herd shuffled out of the barn the camera counted them off, and when the last left the barn doors slid shut again. And then another wave of exclamations bubbled up from the herd as Clarice broke away and stepped off the path.

She had to know. The notion was both seductive and infuriating, like a fly just out of tail’s reach. Surely, she thought, there must be more to life?

“What are you doing!?” Imogen shouted.

“I’m going for breakfast.” Clarice veered off the path to the milking barn and made her way towards the grassy fields.

“But,” Imogen sputtered, “you can’t! It’s our turn to get milked! If we miss our window, one of the other lodges will get their turn and we’ll have to wait till evening!”

Clarice continued walking, alone. “I’m eating breakfast,” she called over her shoulder. “Anyone that wants to join me is welcome to.”

By the time she took her third delectable mouthful of fresh clover, she noticed a few of her lodge sisters had joined her. And as they too took their first nibbles, more and more of the others approached.

“Oh, I feel so naughty,” Tammy said, grinning between every mouthful. The other young cows near her giggled and agreed, but the older ones ate hurriedly and kept glancing over their shoulders.

Finally the whole herd had joined Clarice, all except for Imogen who stood at the periphery and berated them.

“What is this I see? A fine lot you are, lazing about and stuffing your craws like some filthy sows!” A few older cows reddened in the face, but they kept eating all the same. “I am utterly ashamed to call you my lodge sisters. Irresponsible heifs, the lot of you. You don’t know how good we have it, and how bad things used to be.” Some younger cows dared roll their eyes and giggle, and Clarice smiled. “Oh, sure, go and eat. Enjoy your last meal, sisters-o-mine. Just what do you think the farmer will do when he notices we’re not there?”

There was another contagious giggle, but it stopped at once when Clarice raised her head.

“You’re right,” she said.

Imogen sneered, evidently pleased at being recognized.

But instead of returning to the milking barn path, Clarice went the opposite way, towards the dusty fence that ran around the farm’s perimeter.

“Where are you going now!?” Imogen spat.

Clarice sniffed at the fence, then rested her bulk against it. It gave a little but held. “I’m breaking out,” she said. Breaking out, breaking the rules, and breaking the cycle.

“You’re what!?” Imogen said. “You catch a case of Mad Cow?”

“C’mon,” Clarice said, addressing the others. “Any of you that want to go back to getting milked by frozen singing robots, go right ahead. The rest of you, I’d appreciate some help.”

“Step away from there, dummies!” Imogen shouted, as several cows came to Clarice’s aid. “That fence is there for our safety! Don’t you know there’s wolves in the woods?” A few cows startled at the reminder, but more of them lined up with Clarice and helped her push. It was an old fence, and it didn’t remember the last time a cow tried to break out. Neither did the farmer, forgoing maintenance. After a great heave the ancient wood cracked.

“Huzzah!” Tammy exclaimed, right as Imogen let out an indignant shriek.

Clarice crossed the sacred boundary of the farm and marched towards the woods, and the cows started following her one-by-one, then two-by-two, and then all the rest at once, until only Imogen remained behind. She berated them and shouted profanities about irresponsible heifers, but none were swayed by her caterwauling. Finally she huffed and followed too, muttering about a sober mind needing to rescue them all.

The woods were breathtaking, and the cows oohed and aahed as they walked. “I always wanted to see them up close,” Clarice told Tammy. She smiled, and felt as though a great yoke had been lifted from her shoulders. Tammy took a deep breath of the fresh piny air and giggled. Who would have believed such a beautiful world was a hay’s bale away?

Then Melanie groaned. “I think my udder’s full.”

“Yeah,” said Olivia. “I’m starting to cramp.”

“What did you think would happen?” Imogen shrilled. “I told you this was a bad idea. I told you.”

Clarice was starting to feel it too, and the thought of Imogen being right was enough to curdle her milk. But then she spotted something shimmering in the underbrush. “Look!” she said, and the cows followed her gaze to a glimmering stream.

“Oh, and look at all the wildflowers!” Tammy added, rushing over to them and sampling all the woods had to offer. Soon the others joined her, both for treats and a refreshing drink, forgetting themselves in the marvels of freedom.

“Don’t eat that!” Imogen shrieked. “You don’t know what that is! You don’t know where it’s been!”

“We have noses, Imogen,” Clarice said, keeping her tone level. “Once upon a time, they served us perfectly fine.”

“Savage sow!” Imogen hissed. It took all of Clarice’s effort to keep calm and it was a blessing when Imogen huffed and stomped off. And then, Clarice cracked a grin when she noticed Imogen unsuccessfully hiding behind a sapling and voraciously inhaling greenery.

They continued walking after their break, enjoying a long afternoon stroll. They ate when they felt like it, stretched their legs and their imaginations, and marvelled at all the wonderful sights and sounds of the woods. Their moods rose so that even the quietest among them, those most used to routine and frightened of life, raised their heads and drank deeply the fresh air, and laughed. Even Imogen had quiet moments where she forgot to grumble, and once Clarice caught the eldest cow marvelling at a passing butterfly, her eyes wide as a calf’s.

But the udders were becoming a problem. Clarice herself felt tight, felt increasingly uncomfortable. Irritable. The thought of relief – even by the horrid ice hands of the machines – played on her mind. She hated to admit that this was an oversight on her part, and fantasies of the farmer’s hands tugged at her thoughts. Then she scowled. What she really needed was a calf. When was the last time she had one of those? Months, probably, though it felt like years.

She remembered the last one. A boy she hadn’t bothered to name. He was precious and sweet and charming, and all too soon he was… snatched away? The farmer took him, yes, but could Clarice honestly say he was snatched? It’s not like they ever really fought to keep their calves. There wasn’t enough room to raise calves in the sleeping-barn, and the whole point of employing farmers and their robots was to make things safer and easier for everyone. So why did she feel so damn miserable?

She wanted her calf, and that was that. She wanted her calf and she wanted a bull – or two – and she wanted to eat when she damn well felt like it. When was the last time she’d even seen a bull? They were real, weren’t they? She hadn’t just imagined them, she hoped. She dimly recalled they got ornery, and so it was safer and easier for everyone to keep them in their own lodges too. Use the ape automatons to handle relations, in a safe and easy manner.

Lost in her ruminations and with her udder pressing ever on her mind, Clarice bouldered right through a bush and into a clearing – filled with wolves.

The wolves yelped and the cows shrieked, and then for an endless moment everyone was frozen in time. Clarice’s eyes met those of an old wolf with a grey streak in his fur, and his eyes were as wide with alarm as hers.

Her mind clanked, her instincts bzz-bzzed, and her dull yellow joy turned bright red panic. She felt in her bones that this was an ancestral threat to her kind, a cow-killer, and as though going through the same line of reasoning, the wolf’s alarm yielded to a saliva drenched snarl.

She would die here, Clarice realized, and she’d led her lodge-sisters to the same fate. Had she followed the rules this wouldn’t have happened. But, she had broken those rules, hadn’t she? As the wolf lunged for her, it occurred to her that this – this dance of predator and prey, of wolf and cow – was defined by rules too. And perhaps these rules too could be broken. With what might have been her final act, she stepped forward suddenly.

The wolf’s eyes widened as he collided with her bulk. He bounced off and flopped on the ground, dazed. Before he could stand, Clarice snorted and set her hoof on his head, pinning him. The members of his pack yelped again, and backed off, and the cows once more exclaimed. Even Imogen was utterly speechless.

The wolf started thrashing, his paws tearing loose clumps of dirt, but he couldn’t escape.

“Stop it,” Clarice hissed.

The wolf yelped and thrashed again.

“What’s your name, wolf?”

He growled and continued scrambling, but she pressed harder on his head and he grunted. “Ramsey!” he muttered, gasping for breath.

“Stop struggling, Ramsey,” she said.

He did, perhaps realizing he was hopelessly pinned, or perhaps realizing the threat posed by the full weight of a cow on his skull. He shivered uncontrollably.

“You were trying to kill me, weren’t you?”

Ramsey mewled, piteously as a calf. “I had to!”

“Had to?”

“I need to feed my family! The horrid apes keep hunting us and all our food.”

Clarice huffed and took a look around the clearing. Just over a dozen wolves, most of them pups, most of them scraggly fur on pointy bones. They looked miserable, filthy, and terrified. When she looked down at Ramsey she saw mange, saw the run of his ribs.

So, she was right. The wolves too just followed the rules, though theirs was a different game. They too were slaves. But as she well knew now, rules could be broken – and changed.

“I have an offer for you, Ramsey,” she said.

“An offer?”

“If you kill us – and I think you understand now that you can’t – but if you did, the farmer would put an end to you and your family.” A high whine escaped Ramsey’s nose. “My offer is this. We’ll spare you, and in turn, you’ll serve as our guides and our guards.”

“Preposterous!” he muttered.

“Furthermore, we will freely offer our milk to your kin.”

Once more, silence struck the clearing with deafening might.

Imogen was the first to sputter, “Impossible!”

A she-wolf howled, “That’s not how things are done!”

But then Clarice beckoned one of the wolf-calves toward her, and the starving little runt approached – too young, perhaps, to know how things are done; or too hungry to care. It took to suckling one of her teats readily and the wave of sudden relief that washed over her was enough to make her knees soft.

“Well, it’s how things are done now,” Clarice said. When she raised her hoof from Ramsey’s head, he scrambled away from her and watched awestruck as the youngest of his pack flocked to Clarice, and then to the other cows. And then gradually the wolves and the cows came together and forged an unlikely alliance.

Ramsey’s trepidations vanished as his belly filled and he saw his family growing fat and healthy, and Imogen was too stunned to complain, or to remember what to complain about. The wolves turned out to be gregarious when not ravenous, and their little calves were charming in their own right, and won the hearts of many a lodge-sister.

Ramsey warmed to the new arrangement and he urged the cows to follow him as the day’s light began vanishing. He took them to a hill where they had a view of the rolling countryside, and when he told Clarice that there was a flock of sheep living nearby, she began hatching new notions for new tomorrows.

Then the cows gasped when they saw the naked night sky, which was denied to them in their safe and easy barn, and when the moon came out and Ramsey’s wolves howled at it, the cows joined them with their haunting moos.