I had been granted an exclusive interview with Daisy, the leader of this brutal takeover bid on Fordford farm, and I was sat on a straw bale in the heart of the disputed zone, the barn. Surrounding me were seven moody looking cowguards, tails swishing significantly as I glanced at them, deep focus in their eyes.
�Every proletariat has its epiphany,� continued Daisy, �ours came on a rainy day when Farmer Algernon tried to chase us inside for milking on a sunny August afternoon, and we realised we needn�t be subject to his whims any more, we were more numerous and far more powerful than him. We could lie in the sun for a bit longer, should we choose. So we chose.
�Buttercup was the first, the martyr, the original revolutionary: she chewed on a corner of his coat and drooled down his trousers. In typical over-class style, he beat her round the head with the flat of his hand, and we all took this as our cue to act, and so act we did, in a decisive and swift manner. We all sat down on the spot and chewed the cud at him, vindictively. He brutalised us, he kicked and cussed to try and get us moving, but we placidly sat there chewing at him as only cows can really do.
�Eventually the sun went in and it got a bit chilly and so we decided it was milking time and let the chap relieve us of some udder baggage. We weren�t giving in mind you! It was on our terms that he was milking us, and so it would be in the future.
�Our revolution went from there really, and soon we were unequivocally the rulers of the farm. Algernon only milked us when we deemed it necessary, only fed us constantly and never was allowed to do us wrong again. Whenever he tried to do us wrong, we sat down at him, and he�s had no solution to this.�
I asked then, intrigued:
�But how do you determine the will of the herd? When to sit and when to stand?�
Passively I was also asking how on earth a cow managed to pronounce so many words in italics, but she never caught on to those undertones.
�Ah,� said Daisy, �that�s where I come in. A democratic vote every time an event occurred would be time consuming, and Farmer Algernon could have done his business before we had decided, couldn�t he? So we decided to instead democratically elect a leader on a weekly basis, and let them make the decisions. This gives the other girlies time for the other things in life, like cud chewing, sleeping, or being ravaged by Joe the bull.�
�And you were elected this week?� I asked,
�Well,� said Daisy, coyly, �I was actually elected right at the start, but as democratic leader I decided that my first move would be to ban all further elections, making me lifetime president. All legitimate, of course, no one has tried to resist.�
�The other cows let you do this?� I asked, incredulous.
�Yes,� said Daisy, haughtily, �why shouldn�t they?�
�Well, you claim to be fair and democratic, yet set yourself up as a lifetime leader, it doesn�t seem to quite fit with your ideologies.� I replied.
�It fits fine.� Replied Daisy, quite, quite narked by that. �This interview is over.�
I was escorted firmly from the premises then by a squad of cowmandos. I started thinking: is this really such a bad thing, cows taking power from the farmer? They still give their milk, albeit not quite as much, and freedom is supposedly what us westerners value most, so surely we should support this? Sure, they had an autocratic leadership, but humans have been through them, we can hardly complain, and a further bovine revolution to democracy would be inevitable as disquiet with dictatorship grew. Perhaps we could learn from another species self-governing alongside our own? Maybe they had ideas and viewpoints we didn�t have access to, should we leave them be.
These torn thoughts consumed me as I walked outside the farm, barely noting the abattoir van pulling up next to Algernon�s farmhouse. As I pondered and came to accept these cows and their way of life, and even stretched to supporting their actions, a barbecue was quietly lit and the slaughter man slowly loaded his gun.
Whatever your views on revolutionary bovines, I can assuredly tell you one thing. They taste best lightly marinated and with just a drop of pepper, lightly cooked on both sides.