We’re not as benevolent an influence as we’d like to believe. That’s not to say that there aren’t a few good eggs among the human race but as a species we’ve got something of a less than magic touch. If you’re finding yourself getting hot and bothered (not in the fun time, possibly beneath the sheets way) under the collar by that statement then do reign yourself in. Human beings did climate change and fucked up a whole lot of other stuff, we have been far from benign.
One of the most egregious things we accomplished, whether on purpose or not (and to be fair, probably not given that we wouldn’t have been thinking about their wellbeing more about what we reckoned the best method would be to yield more tasty meat with the minimum of effort) was rendering cows as vacant tits. Not tits in the udder sense or even lady breasticles. More, you know, idiots.
Academic rigour hasn’t been what farmers have been selecting for. We’re forced to go back to the tasty meat angle and possibly the eagerness to give up that which brings all the boys to the yard once agitated. Nevertheless, the simple fact that breeders hadn’t been interested in their minds or inner thoughts doesn’t mean that cows don’t have any or at least didn’t once upon a time.
However, standing in the middle of a field with nothing to do all day but munch grass, that most unprepossessing of foodstuffs (go on think of something even more stultifyingly dull, I dare you. Then cook it for your nearest and dearest and see if they don’t disown you), is bound to kill off any errant thought processes. Sure, a young and naïve bullock or whatever might craft the most moving poetry you’ve ever heard but they’ll forget it before long as part of the ongoing drudgery that is the life of a cow.
Song choices courtesy of: The Piano Guys, Greg Edmondson and Rachel Bloom