Sunday at the farm was much like Saturday: placid calves, horrified horses. Ben still wouldn’t come with me beyond the gate between his fields, not for carrots, not for cookies, not for nuthin. I guess it’s understandable he’d be more distraught than the white boys, since the Dread Monsters of Doom live right next to him and menace his path to the run-in (though he did manage to overcome his terror long enough to come in for his breakfast grain):
Cholla and Counterpoint at least have Ben’s territory to absorb the first charge of the savage cattle before they surge into the white boys’ bastion:
As you can see, Ben is on alert at a safe distance (he hopes); Cholla has weighed gazing versus grazing and gone for the sensible course, and Counterpoint keeps watch from the lane. It’s a nervous business, being so close, and he grows increasingly fidgety. Is this really such a good idea? Perhaps his forward observation post should be somewhat less forward?
Or maybe this is a Very Bad Idea and he should get the hell outta Dodge while he can!
Run away! Back behind the lines!
And so I left them yesterday, doing what comes naturally in the midst of unnatural HORROR:
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