The cow he was milking held other opinions, however, and she voiced them with great enthusiasm. She gave out a roar not often heard from bovine lips, rolled her eyes wildly, and began to stomp her cloven hooves to escape her tormentor. This resulted in Blushby's losing hold on the cow, his being kicked in the shin, and the milk pail's being kicked rather violently, spilling the milk unceremoniously all over the earthen floor.
Blushby was not really so mighty a warrior, but he was really quite humble, and brave when occasion permitted. This endeared him to most people he came across, though few livestock, such as this cow. The challenge he had before him now was to calm down the enormous cow. Brave though he was, he knew, he was not so sure if he could face that cow. She really could work up a storm when she desired, as she seemed to be presently doing cheerfully, and he maneuvered himself out of her way, climbed the ladder, and leapt upon the hayloft where she could not get at him. He took a deep breath, and contemplated his next move.
The cow knew he was safe where he was, and one resentful eye kept rolling back to where he hid. Silently, in the midst of her rampage, she cursed under her breath. She had been planning for weeks to gain Blushby's trust back since the last incident. All those mornings, letting herself be milked without a single complaint, letting Blushby even pat her side when he dared (she hated that the most). Slowly, slowly she built back up the bridge of trust between herself and Blushby. She suffered through his telling her his hopes and dreams, his fears (which was quite a long list). Insult was added to injury at each milking session when he laughed and patted her side nervously, saying, "Ah, old Bessy, you probably can't understand a word I'm saying?" "I wish I couldn't," she invariably thought. While she felt her patience draining, she held herself at bay, planning each tread upon his face, where each stomp would land, exactly which boards she would knock loose to fall on him, and toyed with the idea of leaping into the air and squishing him for a grand finale. All this she passed through, day after day, waiting against the day that Blushby would feel secure enough to go back to acting out his Warrior persona (or perhaps Blushby could not remember more than a few weeks back; she was unsure which) so she could finally trample him without his uncle suspecting a thing. His uncle hated the Warrior persona almost as much as she hated Blushby.
She kicked over the anvil from its pedestal at the far end of the barn -- a key grievance of hers, as she could still not fathom why the farmer had decided to locate his smithy in her barn and not somewhere more preferable, such as anywhere else -- and fumed upon the singularity of how close she had been. All she had done wrong was that she kicked the milk pail at the wrong angle. A few more degrees to the left side and it would have gone right into Blushby's eyes, blinding him, and he could not have escaped her. It might be another month before she could have another go, she harrumphed, before aiming a good kick and the unsuspecting nearby sheep. She knocked it over, and felt much better. She stopped flailing about and mooing in rage, took a deep breath. Blushby's uncle would be in any minute. She returned to the spilled milk and stared at it with a most bovine expression on her face.
The cow knew he was safe where he was, and one resentful eye kept rolling back to where he hid. Silently, in the midst of her rampage, she cursed under her breath. She had been planning for weeks to gain Blushby's trust back since the last incident. All those mornings, letting herself be milked without a single complaint, letting Blushby even pat her side when he dared (she hated that the most). Slowly, slowly she built back up the bridge of trust between herself and Blushby. She suffered through his telling her his hopes and dreams, his fears (which was quite a long list). Insult was added to injury at each milking session when he laughed and patted her side nervously, saying, "Ah, old Bessy, you probably can't understand a word I'm saying?" "I wish I couldn't," she invariably thought. While she felt her patience draining, she held herself at bay, planning each tread upon his face, where each stomp would land, exactly which boards she would knock loose to fall on him, and toyed with the idea of leaping into the air and squishing him for a grand finale. All this she passed through, day after day, waiting against the day that Blushby would feel secure enough to go back to acting out his Warrior persona (or perhaps Blushby could not remember more than a few weeks back; she was unsure which) so she could finally trample him without his uncle suspecting a thing. His uncle hated the Warrior persona almost as much as she hated Blushby.
She kicked over the anvil from its pedestal at the far end of the barn -- a key grievance of hers, as she could still not fathom why the farmer had decided to locate his smithy in her barn and not somewhere more preferable, such as anywhere else -- and fumed upon the singularity of how close she had been. All she had done wrong was that she kicked the milk pail at the wrong angle. A few more degrees to the left side and it would have gone right into Blushby's eyes, blinding him, and he could not have escaped her. It might be another month before she could have another go, she harrumphed, before aiming a good kick and the unsuspecting nearby sheep. She knocked it over, and felt much better. She stopped flailing about and mooing in rage, took a deep breath. Blushby's uncle would be in any minute. She returned to the spilled milk and stared at it with a most bovine expression on her face.
It's very late and I was improvising. So grammar, sentence structure, spelling, capitalization, and stuff may not be win. Some of it might be really lose.
ReplyDeleteOh my gosh, I am frightened.
ReplyDeleteNow I see why people can have cow phobias. That last, chilling sentence: ...stared at it with a most bovine expression on her face.
You've switched perspectives mid-story, which works in this case, I think.
Oh, yes. I don't really plan on going back to the cow's perspective ever, though. This is so that you'll know throughout the rest of the story that the cow has it in for Blushby. It will explain some things that happen. She may be exposed one day. I doubt it muchly, though.
ReplyDelete