By Melissa Wellbank Gordon

Introduction

My name is Minnie Moo, the cow. I have kept a dairy, I mean, diary, in the 11 years that the Green New Deal has been implemented. The “Deal” outlawed gas and oil, combustion engines, and cars in order to save Mother Earth. Airplane transportation is not permitted. The world, as predicted over a decade ago, will end next year. I am, perhaps, the only surviving cow due to the politics of flatulence. The date is 2030 and I have one year to utter the story of the upcoming demise of my friends, enemies, and planet Earth.

Chapter 1

It was a beautiful spring day and, as I recall, we were all enjoying the green grass in the pasture and comparing the colorful earrings that we wore on our right ears. The bulls were separated from us girls, so we were the first to hear the dismal news. Farmer Jones stood on a high stack of hay and made the gloomy announcement. He made direct eye contact with me: I was his favorite. He spoke with sadness and tenderness. He told us that cows were now illegal, due to the emissions of methane gas.  The computer models warned of the imminent danger, due to an accelerated global warming. He tried to give as much dignity as possible, avoiding any reference to the often humorous, vulgar and common profanity of the four letter “F” word ending with a “T”. Yes, we were in fact guilty of this gas, and we were to die for the common good. My friend Betsy’s milk immediately dried up and she fainted next to my best friend, Elsie the Heifer. I, then, simply gave Farmer Jones a pleading look with my big brown moo cow eyes so he would help Betsy. Instead, he started walking to the barn, but stopped and beckoned me to come with him—just me.

As I approached the structure, Farmer Jones pulled me into a “safe space” where I could not be seen. Apparently, it was just in time. An animal with yellow tusks entered the barn with arrogant authority. I dared to peek and saw a huge hog armed with the diagrams from a computer model, wearing the letters ”AOC” in bold print on his upper sleeve. His name was Male Boar, but they called him “Al”.  Some spelled his last name intentionally  B_O_R_E_ due to his lack of personality. However, this was against the new law. At any rate, a “wild bore” was definitely an oxymoron in Al’s particular case.

I waited and listened. I was suddenly alarmed by the sound of rhythmic marching coming towards the barn. I heard Al address someone as “Dear Feeder”.  Once again, I  snuck a look from my safe place. It was a woman with a dark mane, large eyes, and a set of teeth that reminded me of my friend Gus. He was the work horse on the farm and often showed his teeth when he was feeling his oats. Al was still standing at attention and Farmer Jones also remained still. The woman approached him with the confidence of youth and informed him that he was just to grow vegetables and to use the deceased cows as fertilizer. I shuddered my utters at these words and chewed on my cud to keep from screaming. In the corner of my eye, I could see Farmer Jones turn as white as homogenized cow’s milk. I learned later that her name was AOC.

Chapter 2 

The cows didn’t come home.

Chapter 3  

I was in Moooourning, missing my friends, especially Elsie. Her present purpose was to make the soil rich with vitamins along with the others who were decomposing. This sacrifice was to be understood as the common good and was called “The Soil Fertilization Act”

(SFA.) 

Thanks to Farmer Jones, I was designated as a therapy cow and consoled the dairy and meat production farmers in the area. The farmers stroked me while they told me about their woes. It was Farmer Grey who spoke of the upcoming government initiative called the “On Track” plan. The “plan” would  have train tracks cutting through Farmer Jones’ silo, Farmer Grey’s Barn, The Farmer in the Dell’ s house, and many others acquired by eminent domain.  Trains were now to be the main form of transportation and people’s homes were often destroyed if it was deemed necessary. A few days prior to the destruction, the owners were given a notice to remove the living. The neighboring farmers cynically referred to the impending destruction of a house as a “track home”. However, in  Farmer Grey’s case, it was his silo.  He told me he would now have to transfer the grain from his silo to the milk production area. He paused, knowing that the dormant milking machines would understandably sadden me. You see, cows’ milk was now under Prohibition.  The milk that had been stored prior to the “Soil Fertilization Act” was often consumed under the cloak of night. People were arrested if doctors reported lactose intolerance. The doctors that were sympathizers often prescribed almond milk, instead of turning the violators into the “Green Beans”.  The Green Beans were AOC’s enforcers of the Green law. They wore green beanies on their heads, hence the nick name. They actively made sure that everyone ate their vegetables. These officials violently checked their napkins as if searching for weapons. Their training included the detection of brussels sprouts, asparagus, and broccoli hidden in the folds of the new “vegetarian’s” napkins. It was not tolerated if the folds held any green value.  If, in fact, any green was found, the offenders were sent away to enrich the soil under the SFA. However, their sacrifice did award them honorable mention just before each meal.

The designation of “therapy cow” not only saved me from the SFA, but afforded me some travel time. I would often get on the train and visit the ex-dairy and ex-meat farmers in different areas.  Through the train windows, I observed the world beyond our local fields. This was where I first witnessed the huge fans that congregated like cattle. They were taller than the fans that were once in my beloved barn…much, much taller and, oh, so many. I thought that they might just have to build larger barns to accommodate these fans. …hoping. As I continued down the tracks, I saw huge panels everywhere. There were trees and buildings aflame. I could not process this as well as processed meat, but I supposed I’d have to ask Farmer Jones upon my return. The snow was falling hard by the time I got back and I looked forward to the answers.

Farmer Jones spoke in whispers to my questions. It was against the law now to be too inquisitive. I didn’t want to lose my therapy license, so I spoke in a soft “moooted” tone as well. He told me that the big fans were called “Windmills.”  However, since the population was now starving and freezing, they were mockingly re-named “windmeals” much to the chagrin of the National Audubon Society (NAS).  The NAS tried to educate the public of the windmills’ blades, cutting and chopping the birds, but the alert only served as an exciting menu plan for the hungry people.   Farmer Jones told me that the people hid in the wind farms, scooping up winged creatures, and discarding the beaks and feet. They had to avoid the Green Beans, who would execute them and confiscate the stolen meat and pack it into their horse drawn buggies, which was now considered another form of progressive transportation. “Anyway Minnie”, he said, “the windmills or the big fans you saw often experience the doldrums”,  which means that electricity could not always be provided to the population.  The burning of trees and buildings now provide heat to the diminishing people. The Green Beans grieved for the trees. They were to save our planet. The vegetables suffered because the farm equipment and other technologies required outlawed fuel. It was also hard to disperse this food for the same reason. Farmer Jones grew weary of talking. I couldn’t add to the conversation, but I did tell Farmer Jones how some of the farmers stared at me as if I were a walking cheese burger, Farmer Jones drooled. I found this disconcerting and bid him “good light” (referencing the solar panels’ improved efficiency on sunny days.)

Chapter 4

The next morning, I decided that I would walk to the airport. I was curious as to why the horse and buggies had headed down the lonely and cracked Airport Road. I would have taken a train, but some weren’t running anymore and the passengers would often look at me as if I were just a piece of red meat, despite my therapy cape. I didn’t realize then that the tracks didn’t lead there anyway. I arrived midday and grazed just outside the Delta terminal. I imagined Elsie the Heifer dining with me and I started feeling lonely. I think Elsie would have found some humor in my present situation. I was just about to think of one of her jokes when suddenly, I again heard rhythmic marching. I hid behind a large cement post and grazed. I mean “gazed” in the marching sound’s direction.  I don’t mean to brag, but we cows have a panoramic view of 300 degrees, Elsie told me, so I allowed one eye to rotate ,  There I saw  that  same filly woman with the long mane that reminded me of my friend, Gus. She had a wild-eyed expression and flaring nostrils, reminiscent of Gus as a young stallion.  This AOC ordered one of the Green Beans to prepare immediately for flight which included deicing and fueling the plane. “The Plane? The Plane?” thought I. Did she not know that it was illegal to fly and to use fuel? The rest of the Green Beans were instructed to fill the airplanes with beef tenderloin, rib eye, and the ducks that were freshly cut from the most recent windmill deposit. Meat was not allowed, but… The Green Beans’ response to these commands were quick salutes while addressing the woman  again as “Dear Feeder”. I closed my eyes so they wouldn’t see me. It worked. The last one to board the plane was Al Bore, greedily ripping flesh off  a bone. I was hoping it wasn’t a friend of mine. I was sick to my second stomach.

I began to walk to my home before it got dark. As I was approaching the bend in the road, my hooves stepped on a wooden sign that said “Kill humankind, not the Bovine!” I began noticing more of these signs scattered in the weeds. This must have been the protest that Farmer Grey had spoken about when he was receiving my therapy. Farmer Grey had told me that the fertilization act had angered the animal rights activists and hundreds had come out screaming for me and my friends’ safety. I was puzzled and wondered why they would endanger themselves with their proposed alternative of human sacrifice instead. It was later explained to me that the activists were, in fact, safe because they were identifying as asparagus during the protest and all vegetables were protected. I couldn’t help but be thankful to asparagus for attempting to protect me and my friends.

The next moooorning, I noticed that Farmer Jones was quite distraught. He paced around the barn in high alert. I wanted to ask him questions, but I coughed instead.. There was so much smoke in the air that Farmer Jones became a walking silhouette. I desperately wanted to grab his overalls to get his attention, but proper cows don’t behave that way. I lived in a barn, so I never shut the door, and looked outside. There, I saw pieces of farm houses and trees on fire. People were gathered round to feel the warmth of the uncontained  fires. I knew then that Farmer Jones was protecting his barn and house so it did not become fire wood. He was shivering in our cold barn and said his house could not provide heat any longer. I was glad to hear his voice. I was thankful for my fur, but I was so confused. 

He looked at me with much love and sadness again and gently led me to the fire circle. I wanted to share what I had found out at the airport that day, but the towns people were still complaining about the usual—the  deteriorating wind farms, solar power, and their empty plates.  I was always uneasy when people spoke of their hunger. I started imagining that they were going to nudge me just a little too close to the fire. Elsie always told me that I was paranoid, especially when I had too much grass. Anyway, I finally calmed down while Farmer Grey stroked my sirloin area, but without  warning, he pushed me towards the fire for a… barbeque? It was Farmer Jones who suddenly shouted, “RUN!  Minnie Run!”

It is 2031 and the world is still here, despite the prediction. I hid in an airport hangar along Airport Road, where I found thousands and thousands of tanks filled with oil and gas. The smell was overwhelming to my very sensitive nose. I walked a few yards down and found some of my friends….in an industrialized freezer. Hundreds of them!  It’s  a known fact that cows can’t see the color red, but I saw a raging red that colored my very being. I grieved and mooed loudly for them. I hated Dear Feeder and the Green Beans for what they had done. My friends did not enrich the soil after all, they were food for the thoughtless Green Beans, Al Bore, and the horse woman they called “ Dear Feeder” even though meat was classified as illegal tender…loin. I cried and then the color blue also covered my very being.  Between the red of rage and the blue of sadness, I became a purple cow. It was too much, I tipped into a deep and prophetic dream,

Chapter 5 

I dreamt of my mama, the Dairy Queen of us all. Her name was Maxxie Moo.  This is why Farmer Jones named me Minnie.  Mama often read to me, often about the Great Chicago Fire. It was believed by some of the cattle that the O’ Leary’s cow kicked over a lantern and burned three square miles of the City of Chicago. My mama always chose books to teach me lessons concerning safety. As a young calf, I decided it would be a good idea to stay away from the O’ Leary’s cow. Lesson learned. At that moment, something slowly crept into my bovine brain. I would side kick the huge lanterns surrounding the food and fuel area and run. Suddenly, I heard a plane just overhead. It was about to land. I quickly side kicked ten of the lanterns and ran. In the distance I could hear powerful explosions: the fire torched Dear Feeder’s plane  

I stood proudly purple upon a knoll with my red therapy cape blowing in the breeze. It was my therapy this time. The hippo critters (Am I saying that word correctly?) that killed my friends, and froze and starved the people while they were indulging in meat and flight, were now gone. So here I am, a lonely social animal telling you a story, when you now no longer exist. Elsie would have found humor in this situation.

The end