The insouciance of young steers
staring, their heads sideways cocked
clocking my amble by, and the absolute
beauty of the Charolais' upturned
face towards my passing observation:
how I see burgers on the barbecue;
sizzling steak at Gaucho. Further
around the corner, black and whites
loll in the sun and grass, churning
milk for strong coffee and my lifelong
full cold glass at mealtimes.
There is no blood-rush for the hunt.
What I see in this afternoon's strolled foray
is the supermarket's meat on cold display.
Too true! I tend not to dwell on the connection too much when seeing cows in the countryside. I do love my beef- and milk, though...
ReplyDeleteIt is a whimsy. I don't care about the meat: I used to feed veal calves, and I hand reared a runtpig which I then had butchered when fattened and it was the best pork I have ever had!
ReplyDeleteOh you're such a brute!!! I bet it tasted great, though. I guess I have a fairly girly attitude to animals really - I'm quite happy to eat them as long as they've had a relatively happy life. It means I pay over the odds for it but it makes me feel slightly better!!! Sad and sentimental, I know!
ReplyDeleteI like whimsy...am often whimsical myself, dontcha know!