Clover Moo here, reporting from the shady corner of the paddock. It’s been tough times for us cows. Yep, a real cattle dog of a week.
As if this year hasn’t been distressing enough with the supermarkets flogging my precious milk for $1 a litre, along come these revelations of brutality at Indonesian slaughterhouses.
I’ve known about this for years, of course. The rumours have been on the bovine grapevine for ages. Now the rumours are confirmed. We are being slaughtered like…like… like animals!
Don’t take me for some kind of hippie vegetarian. Well, obviously I am a vegetarian, but I’m definitely not a hippie. Not like that stinking old nanny goat down by the tractor shed.
Point is, I know what happens to us cows. We end up as steaks. Or in the case of those shipped to Indonesia, we end up as beef rendang, which I’m told is a mild yet richly flavoursome curry.
I accept that life is cruel. But death need not be. Have these Indonesian executioners not seen the cattle gun scene from No Country for Old Men? As Javier Bardem ably showed, there are ways to put us out of our misery without making the misery more miserable.
Honestly I’m so depressed, I can’t be bothered lumbering ten steps over to that delicious patch of lucerne.
The milk thing was bad enough. A dollar a litre. Pfft! Then came the fancy burger wars at the big fast food chains.
“Hello-oo. I mean “Moo-oo”. Newsflash. Angus isn’t fancy meat. Believe me, I know Angus. I also know Angus’s cousin Angus and many other Anguses. And I can assure you their flesh is no more or less delectable than my own.
And don’t get me started on my pretentious cousin Wankyu in Japan.
Well, I could go on until the cows come home, but with four stomachs and a very small brain there’s not much else to ruminate on.
Except to urge the beef industry to stop the live trade to Indonesia. We simply can’t “cowtow” to their selfish interests any longer.
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