Lying on my side in the long green grass I thought the cow were far away. But they were really close, just dead small, the size of cats. With teats like snapped cake candles. Four little wicks dripping enough milk to fill a shot glass (if you could grasp them in that squeeze and pull movement I can imagine so well but execute so poorly).
There was an obvious ringleader in the herd, a wall-eyed cow with one horn curling down and inwards like a reluctant hitcher. She ruled with the other thumb, claiming the juiciest clover for her bulging seven bellies and mooring the group on often and tightly. Over time I watched them forge a tiny beefy swath across the meadow and marvelled at the steaming pennies left behind.
Time to leave UB.
23rd August 2014