Happy Days, A Point of Order
Easily mistaken for a deer is our sweet friend whom we have named Happy Days. Her name, we whispered to her as a prophecy of the good things to come.
The first being her now bestest buddy, Good Friday! At just 18 kg of bony infancy and with her big doe eyes, Happy Days could easily be mistaken for a deer. And in her desperate need for her mumma, she could well be a small child.
But she is not.
She is a bobby calf who entered this world by the cruellest of means. You see, cows do not, as many wrongly believe, simply produce milk by virtue of being a cow, for like all mammals, they will only produce milk in order to feed THEIR baby.
Those very babies are separated from their loving mummas shortly after birth so the milk intended for their offspring can be forcibly taken for human use.
And if little Happy Days’ pleading tongue peeking through her cheery toothy grin is not enough to tug at your heart strings, perhaps her story will.
Born one of a twin, her sibling passing away shortly after birth, Happy Days was too born with without a tail. By what genetic misfiring caused this to occur, along with her misplaced vulva, we shall never know.
But what we do know is that separating loving mummas from their beloved babies, for our ends and not theirs, is a point of order our society urgently needs to address.
For in this, the 21st century, one must ask why are we, as adult humans, consuming milk and dairy products of another species? An act that causes untold animal suffering, environmental degradation, human health issues, and consumes vast resources inconsistent with outputs.
After a night so long it almost forgot to end, we caught some sleep, grabbed a snack and headed on our well-worn track to the barn.
There was no doubt that Berlin’s world was crumbling the day he and his three buddies were surrendered into our care.
With a haunting sadness in their eyes, Gracelyn and Elvira entered our world. And we theirs, as they searched their newfound digs for somewhere to land their gaze.
Lost in a world far, far bigger than himself was little Bahama. But then kindness found him.
Little Kokomo may have been down on his luck the day he was born, finding himself way down in a pile of mirky mud.
Words could not convey our shock when we went to our carpark to collect the little lamb we would soon name Bermuda, who was surrendered into our care after having been found the day before.
More than likely destined for backyard slaughter, the young Cedric ran for his life. And did so for several days in the off-leash dog park to which he had retreated.
Friend or freezer? Without even meeting the colourful chap we have named Tom Cruise, we knew the only role he should ever fill was the first.
At just one day old, teeny tiny Trapper John was diminutive in size yet formidable in impact, and everybody was talking about him.