Pigs In Paradise. Roger MaxsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
laughed happily.
“Not even a saddle.”
“Not even Manly Stanley.”
“Well, unless I want him to. There is a difference,” Beatrice said and the two friends laughed. They knew there was grain to be had in the barn, and so it was off to the barn they headed.
“Hey,” Stanley said when he saw Bruce.
Bruce nodded. The two great males of the moshav, the shimmering black Belgian stallion, and the reddish-coated Simbrah bull, continued to graze in the main pasture in the morning sun together among the sheep and goats.
9
BBC
or
Why did the Bull Cross the Road?
Bruce found himself back in his little pasture of the world. It was the feedlot behind the barn. He shook his great head and massive shoulders. He knew where the Israeli Holsteins were. Bruce raised his head as a light breeze blew over from the direction of the Holsteins. Local girls, a herd of 12, and Bruce loved BBC, big beautiful cows. As he contemplated the Holsteins, a couple of them had ventured up to the fence across the road. They grazed a little along the fence, but had come up to the road mostly to tease and taunt Bruce.
Standing inside the fence one of the heifers called out, “Oh moo-hoo, Brucee, are you there? When are you ever going to come back and see us, big boy? My goodness, how long has it been, years at least if not longer?”
“This may be true for you, but if dreams do come true, this will be my first time,” the younger heifer said. “I mean, alive and warm anyway. I’m a little nervous. The first time was through artificial insemination and that was no fun.”
“Oh, my, my, my, Bruce does not disappoint. My dear, you’re in for a treat, and not to worry. Bruce is both gentle and fun and at the same time too.”
“But there’s a barn lot of us. Can he manage, you know, all of us in one night?”
“Oh, my, yes, dear. He’s the only male species who can impregnate us all through the course of an evening, and yet satisfy too. He’ll take his time, you’ll see.”
“Thank goodness. Anything’s got to be better than a cold, sterile instrument.”
“We only need one bull, my dear, and there’s only one Bruce, and he’s ours.”
The two heifers shared a laugh and rubbed shoulders as they sauntered off down inside the road to the meadow past the lemon grove. The Israeli Holsteins were head and shoulders larger than Blaise. They were close in stature to Bruce, nearly all of them 12 hundred pounds. A mixture of black and white, with black being the dominant color; each of the 12 cows had a large, full, low-hanging udder and big teats, and all of them white. Although similar in design, each cow had her own, unique personality. Bruce loved them all and would know each one after the other intimately before the night was over. He caught their scent wafting on the night air and it was nice.
He walked along the fence to the gate that opened onto the road that separated the two main pastures. He breathed deeply and snorted through his nostrils. It had four wooden planks. Bruce raised a hoof and kicked out the second rung from the bottom of the gate. Then he kicked and broke in half the third plank. He used his massive head and pushed through the upper rung to get to the other side. Not wanting to rush things or hurt himself, he stepped over the fourth rung one hoof at a time, careful not to scrape his low-hanging scrotum against the bottom rail. Once he cleared the bottom rung, he crossed the road toward the opposite pasture. One more gate stood between him and earthly bliss. At the fence, he looked over the barbed wire (which was in place as much to keep the Muslims out as it was to keep the heifers in), but couldn’t see the dairy cows because of the row of lemon trees. He knew they were there. The Holsteins were hidden from view by the lemon grove along the fence line in the meadow in the back of what was the dairy operation of the farm. He could hear them and smell them down in the meadow. Bruce kicked the lower rung and raised a hoof and broke in half the middle one. He then used his horns to push through the upper rail. He stepped into the pasture and looked up and down the fence line. To his liking, he saw no one. He ambled along the field road down past the lemon grove into the meadow on the trail of 12 big beautiful cows in waiting.
When Bruce approached the heifers, it was dark under a clear sky with the same moon as the night before. They startled and scattered about, but none of them moved too far away lest she missed something important.
“Here I am, girls. Here I am,” he said.
“Hey, look girls. It’s Brucee! I told you he’d come.”
“Oh, my Bruce!” mooed a mature Holstein, happy to see him.
“Shalom you, naughty devil,” said another Israeli Holstein, obviously an old friend.
“Come here you, old dawg,” said another as she slid up against him.
“Shush,” he said. “Now quiet down, girls. We wouldn’t want to be found out, not yet anyway. I just got here.”
“Right, heavens no, we wouldn’t want that,” they mooed gleefully, rubbing their muzzles and bodies against him in the moonlight.
“Besides, this is not according to plan. All hell would break loose if we woke the neighbors.”
10
Curses
On Perelman’s moshav, it was mayhem and chaos. The bull had somehow gotten into the pasture with the Holsteins and all of Juan Perelman’s animal husbandry and planning had been shot in one night with each shot fired by the bull. Bruce was famished.
“Harah,” the moshavnik Juan Perelman said.
“Shit,” one of the Chinese laborers translated.
“Benzona,” Perelman said. It was his moshav.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Beitsim,” Perelman said.
“Balls.”
“Mamzer.”
“Goddamn bastard,” said the Chinese laborer.
“Excuse me,” said his countryman, and a gentleman. “He did not say Goddamn.”
“I’m a Taoist. What do I care?” His countryman, and a gentleman, was also a Buddhist, as was the Thai laborer. Even though they were Buddhists, there was no friendly ground shared between the two men because one’s Buddha was bigger than the other’s Buddha.
Juan Perelman said, “I’ll bet the Egyptians had something to do with this.”
“What are you going to do?” Isabella Perelman said as she walked up to join her husband at the fence.
“I’m thinking.”
“Get rid of them,” she said. “Other moshavim have their issues, like us with land and water. Sale them off, all of them.” She was attractive, with dark eyes, and long dark hair.
“I don’t know?”
“Ship them off then, or give them away if you have to, but let’s finally turn the soil over on this farm and into crops and fruit trees, fig, date, olive trees, and fields of grain, wheat, and hayfields. Feed the people something. They don’t eat pig.”
The Chinese and Thai laborers exchanged looks. Wait a minute, they thought, we’re people too.
“That’s not the issue here, Isabella. It’s the dairy operation that’s in question.”
“Well, how do you know he impregnated them anyway? I mean, seriously 12 Holsteins and the Jersey only a day before.”
“Look at him. He’s famished. I imagine he’s lost a hundred pounds in two days.” Bruce covered a lot of ground, gnawing away at the grass under hoof where he went. “Look how his balls