Dying one by one, day by dying day, unphased, we dug you makeshift graves, as players in nature’s ****** games. Oh, calf I sat with all night, as you went out like the light of a staggering candle - half the way I felt, smoothing out your ratted pelt, prepared me not to gaze but glare at God.

Weary, we carried your bodies and buried them in the backyard; not hard, you just need a tractor or a strong stomach. We lifted your body down into wet mud, which swiftly sunk it. Plunk - we set down our shovels. The other cows huddled in a bubble ‘round your place of rest, bereft - and then, I’m sorry, but we left.