– Thanks for receiving me, Mabel. It’s, um, a lovely field you live in, but there doesn’t seem a lot to do. Don’t you ever get bored?
– Not really. When I was younger, I used to look over the fence and think the grass was greener, but it isn’t really. It was just an optical illusion.
– But what do you get up to all day? Apart from eat, that is.
– Not much, I’ll admit. But then, eating’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? My stomach’s got four compartments and one of them’s always hungry, so apart from the occasional nap, basically I’m munching all day.
– And it’s always grass? Aren’t you sometimes desperate for something different?
– Like barbecue spare ribs? Ah, no, I’m a strict vegan. Everyone in our field is. And we’re quite happy with grass, you know. I’ve seen what the pigs get and I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.
– Which brings me to the delicate topic of, um, meat.
– What about it?
– Well, you are aware, I suppose, that… OK, let’s put it this way – what are your plans for the future?
– More of the same. Some cows are always complaining, or making resolutions, you know, to travel or go into politics, but I just don’t get it. There’s one, I heard, who’s set up a space travel company. Loads of cows are training to jump over the moon. I can’t see the appeal myself. Maybe I’ll learn French one day, though. Last year we had a herd of Charolais with us on an Erasmus exchange, and communication was awkward, to say the least. They thought we were being snooty, you know, making no effort to understand them. But when you’ve been used to ‘Moo’ all your life, it isn’t easy when someone comes along and says ‘Meuh!’
– So no clouds on the horizon, then? That must be nice.
– It is. We’ve got a few killjoys that say it won’t last. There’s a rumour going round about some dreadful place where they’ll take us one day and electrocute us. Apparently someone’s even seen it. But it’s best to ignore that sort of negativity, otherwise you’d go crazy thinking about it all the time. I’m happy as I am. There’s nothing better, you know, than lying down on a mellow summer evening with a group of friends and chewing the cud together. I could do it till the cows come home.