A Fresian Cow in Repose and Associated Questions

A FRIESIAN COW IN REPOSE AND ASSOCIATED QUESTIONS by Jeff Sutton

Last February at about eight o’clock in the morning, I was on a train returning from somewhere or other, having spent the weekend searching for a man called Tom who could lend me his long-handled scythe. It had been a fruitless exercise.

The train carriage was almost empty except for two elderly gentlemen who were not sitting together. Perhaps they had argued, perhaps they had never met, I couldn’t tell from where I was sitting.

At the next stop, a woman got on and slowly walked the entire length of the carriage, apparently looking for a suitable seat. She reached my position and then turned around and walked back slowly, seeming to perform some complicated mental calculation, and then checking behind her to compare the other seats. She repeated this whole manoeuvre several times.

I wondered what criteria she had set regarding appropriate seat positioning. Finally, after many minutes and as many miles, she sat at the opposite end of the carriage near the door, facing the direction of travel. I wanted to get up from my seat, go to her and say, “Excuse me, I’m sitting there.” That’s just the type of guy I am.

Further on in the journey, I was looking out of the window and daydreaming about problems concerning perpetual motion, a current obsession of mine, when I noticed a field containing an irregular black and white shape. As the field shot past the window, I noticed that the shape was in fact a Friesian cow in repose. I was not troubled immediately by this as my mind can only deal with one concept at a time, and even then, at a rate of only one every half an hour.

But slowly, ever so slowly, my concentration waned and waxed from perpetual motion to Friesian cow. I was convinced that the secret of perpetual motion somehow lay in harnessing magnetism from the opposing poles of the Earth and building a giant gyroscope encompassing the globe and …hey, did you know that cows have four stomachs?

Traditional folklore suggests that when cows lie down it is a sure sign that rain is imminent. However, the sky that was visible from the train window was relatively clear and there was little evidence of wind in the upright and steady treetops.

In a herd of cows there would normally be groups striking various attitudes; some sitting, some standing and some lying casually on the ground. Some may even lean against the mantelpiece smoking an elegant cigarillo in a paisley neckerchief, although I’ve never seen it myself. Nevertheless, when lying down, they are usually on their stomachs with front legs bent underneath their chests and head and neck upright. The cow that had entered my thoughts and now giving me cause for concern had been lying stretched out on its left side, all four legs fully extended, with its head resting on a pillow of clover as if on holiday in a sunnier clime.

The image of the cow had disturbed me and my mind was suddenly filled with an urgency, to such an extent that I considered climbing out of the window and running back along the roof of the train, then jumping off, rolling upon landing to soften the impact, making my way back to the field to inspect the cow on bended knee and make a call to the farmer, using my mobile phone connected to a satellite dish that I could fashion out of silver paper from my chewing gum. Perhaps even drape the cow across my shoulders and carry it to the farm, depending on the severity of the situation. That’s just the sort of guy I am.

But before I embarked on such perilous action there were questions to be considered.

Would the farmer already have noticed that the cow is not with the others?

Does he perform a head count as the cows file into their milking stalls?

Is he very organised and adhering to strict animal husbandry policy, as laid down by European Union regulations, or is he lackadaisical and happy-go-lucky in his approach to modern farming techniques?

Will the farmer’s wife complain at the noticeable drop in milk production from the herd as a whole, to the tune of one full udder?

How much does this equate to in monetary value?

Will the farmer scratch his head and wonder why there is an unattached, vacant udder-suction flange assembly?

Or will he scratch his chin?

Is the cow refusing point blank to go along with the herd to be milked? Why?

Is it protesting against poor working conditions on the farm?

Are the dining facilities “up to scratch”?

Has the cow suffered some form of abuse by the farmer?

Was it physical or mental?

Has it been ostracised by the others? Why?

Does the cow consider itself superior or inferior to the others?

On what evidence does it base its premise either way?

Has it woken up with a reluctant malaise like a sulking teenager?

Is it an existentialist and therefore questioning the relevance of conformity?

Is it simply relaxing after a particularly long evening?

Was it playing the harp in an orchestra the previous night?

Should I design a computer program to diagnose the condition “in-situ”?

Perhaps a simple flow-chart would be more practical. For example…

Question One: Does the patient present with bruising to the forehead?

Answer Yes- Administer Witch Hazel embrocation.

Answer No- Consider all other options.

Has the cow ingested a poisonous mushroom in the field?

If so, which strain of fungi was it and is it curable?

Could the effects be lessened if the poison was pumped out of the stomach?

How would the medical staff know which stomach to pump?

Will the farmer be allowed to accompany the cow to hospital or will he be required by the police to remain apart until enquiries had been conducted?

If I save the cows life, will I be forced/obliged to enter into marriage with it because of some strange regional hillbilly bylaw as in some mid-Asian countries?

That’s not the type of guy I am.

But if I do nothing, will it play on my conscience for years to come?

Will I later watch the evening news and see the cow’s legs dangling from a harness as it is being airlifted to hospital by a huge yellow helicopter?

Has the cow, in the short time since I last saw it, suddenly realised it is late and scrambled hastily to its hooves, and lumbered off in the direction of the milking shed?

Will it receive some form of punishment for being late?

Does the farmer administer corporal punishment or simply withhold privileges?

Does the corporal punishment take the form of a stick applied forcibly to the buttock region?

What is the acceptable amount of force used as measured in Newton’s per square inch?

Do the EU laws relating to the use of the metric system affect the laws of Physics?

If so, is E still equal to MC squared?

If not, how will this affect my search for the answer to perpetual motion?

Did Einstein take into account the impact of the introduction of the metric system when he predicted the existence of Black Holes?

Should I try to be more like Einstein and think outside the box?

To-wit, has the cow in fact always been alone in that field?

Is the farmer merely a beginner, with the intention of adding to his herd as and when circumstances permit, considering the volatile economic climate and difficulties in general that affect the livestock industry?

Was what I saw a three-dimensional cardboard representation of a cow that had fallen over due to inefficient ballast-placement?

Has the farmer created this to trick Government assessors into thinking he has a bigger herd than in reality, so as to qualify for generous EU farming subsidies?

Has he got several hundred other cardboard cows, which he shows to the Government assessors from a distance, pointing and making grand sweeping gestures to the far away hillside and exclaiming “Regard my numerous herd”?

Did Einstein use a similar ruse to explain the universe to us?

If “Einstein” is translated into English, it means “One Stone”.

Earth is sometimes referred to as the third rock from the Sun, but is “One Stone” a significant clue from the greatest scientific mind that we are in fact alone in the universe and all the other planets are merely cardboard models in a classroom?

Just who was Einstein A-Go-Go?

Am I thinking too far outside the box?

Is it a cardboard box?

Has the cow thus provided a clue to my search for perpetual motion?

Four stomachs working in harmony; four elements; earth, wind, fire and water…no that’s not it.

A two-dimensional representation of a three-dimensional reality…a hidden dimension, perhaps argon rays, vibrating in constant flux…no that’s not it.

Do cows face magnetic North after midday?

If I affix an elastic band to its lower mandible…

If I harness the methane…

Damn it man, think! I’m missing something, but what?

At that moment I was disturbed from my thoughts by one of the old men seen earlier in my carriage. He was tapping me urgently on the shoulder. I looked up at him and saw that he was gibbering like a lunatic.Drool and spittle were drenching his scruffy grey beard. He jabbed a long-nailed finger at the picture on his filthy homemade sweater…it was a picture of a Friesian cow lying in a field! His finger jabbed first at the picture, then at me and then at the window. Suddenly he screeched out a final laugh, opened the window and threw himself out!

The next day, as I read the paper, the headlines announced that a top scientist had killed himself by jumping from a train. His colleagues said he had been on the verge of an astounding scientific discovery regarding perpetual motion but had recently suffered a nervous breakdown, after a bizarre obsession involving a Friesian cow in repose.

As I picked up my knitting needles and began to follow the pattern of the dead scientist’s sweater, questions again entered my mind…

Did the cow fall from a cloud?

Can cows become part of the weather cycle, i.e. Do cows evaporate?

If not, from where do we get evaporated milk…?