La Vache Solitaire
A simple writing exercise.
By way of an introduction.
I was working years ago with a group of 11 year-old children and we were exploring aspects of creative writing. While discussing our future work, one pupil suggested writing stories from an animal’s perspective. That was an interesting idea and it was readily agreed by the class. It became the Easter holiday writing challenge.
There is always one pupil who is a bit more challenging than the rest of the class. He asked, “What are you going to write about, Sir?”
When challenged, and whenever possible, I think that teachers should be prepared to undertake the same work that they have set for their students. Without missing a beat, I accepted the challenge and here is the result, written after walking in the hills around Murol in the Massif Central, France.
20 years after writing this piece I now have the opportunity to collaborate with an AI app to create the artwork. There is a current debate about the efficacy of using AI for creating material traditionally created by humans. I am on the side of protecting people's creativity, so this will probably be the one and only time I use the tool. Acknowledgements to ChatGBT.
The Lonely Vache:
By Dave Brown
The early morning sun peeked through the trees on the hill situated at the other end of my valley. As the light strikes my eyelids I become suddenly aware of the morning and its accompanying sounds. It has been a long night, but a restful one, and I am ready for another day. I spent the night at the shady end of my home, curled up against the trunk of the large tree where I spend most of my time. It is my favourite place these days.
As I shake myself fully awake, I remember the sound of the bell which used to hang around my neck. It is now caught in the branches of a nearby tree and I can just hear it as it swings and clangs in the wind. It has been there for many years. It is a welcoming sound. One of familiarity, of rightness, of security and belonging.
I stand up, hind legs first, then forelegs, I shake myself and, as I do so, my body releases a spray of dew from every quarter and I am enveloped in a mist of water and small flies which are an ever present part of my day. There is a warmth in the sun although it was early. Today, there is an intensity of pattern in its rays, each one shedding a colourful rainbow from its edge. It is magical, yet different. It is as if I hadn’t noticed before.
It should have been an ordinary day today, but somehow there is a different feeling in the air. I couldn’t say what it is, but there is quietness and stillness around me when normally the countryside would have been waking to its familiar hustle and bustle.
There is little movement from the human buildings next to my home and the sound of other creatures is not as clear as yesterday. What is different? Is it me, or is there a change in the air?
From the time, when I was very small, I enjoyed observing the business of the human beings who live and move outside of my home. The human being who looks after me used to ride on a big red creature with four black feet. It smelled terrible, made a strange roaring noise and left an odour which caused all the animals around my home to scurry away and hide.
Then there were the small humans who seemed to run everywhere and make lots of noises with the voices. “Bonjour petite Vache” they would call every time they passed.
As I grew and they grew, they just said “Bonjour, Vache”, and would walk past more slowly. I would run up to the edge of my home and look over the plants which grew there. They would smile and sometimes they would lean over and place their hands on my head. That was all a long time ago.
One of those small human beings was there on the day my ear was pierced. “Please mister Farmer, can we put it on the left ear”, one of them said. With a sharp pain, a small, but weighted object was attached to my left ear. Every time I shake my head now that ear bangs against my head. At least the pain has gone away. Later, I saw other animals in nearby homes with colourful objects attached to their ears. I felt I belonged. I was part of a club, a team, a member. I had the badge.
Today is gradually becoming warmer. The sun is rising in the sky and the shadows from my tree are shortening. I notice that there are different noises today. Strange roaring sounds from a distance, but I cannot see.
The usual visits from the small creatures do not happen today. I wondered where they were. On a normal day, I would see small furry creatures hopping through the holes in the bushes around my home. They would often spend time in my presence and in their own way keep me company. Inquisitively nosing around where I lay, eating my grass and being comfortable in my space, but today is not normal.
I am the only one of my sort on the farm - or at least I think I am. I haven't seen any other creature like me for a very long time.
I don’t really have a role on this farm apart from producing milk. I just stand here and eat grass which makes up the floor of my home. I often wonder what happens in the human buildings. I saw other animals enter, but I never saw them leave. Are they part of a special team, or do they go somewhere exciting and exotic with a real purpose in their lives? I long to know.
The sun is now at its highest position in the sky. At this time of day I would normally find a place on the uphill side of my tree. There I find the best shadows. It's the coolest place to spend the afternoon. I usually lie down on the soft grass and chew my morning’s grazing. Usually in the afternoons I drift into sleepy dreams and memories.
I begun to realise that, as the seasons have passed, the human who looks after me seems to do less and less. His big noisy four footed animal has changed into a smaller beast – even smaller than me. It just has room for the man alone. He has stopped living in the big home at the sunrise end of my land and has moved into a smaller human home on the shady side of the valley. I often see him sitting at the front of this home with a wistful and dream like look in his eyes. Just staring at the land that he once looked after so caringly.
Yesterday was the strangest day I have known in my life. Through the gap in my hedge a small group of humans arrived. They had colourful hats and many pieces of metal in their hands. They marched up and down, talked to each other a lot and marked colourful lines on my grass. Later, I ate some of this colourful grass. It was not to my taste at all. Once, I walked over to offer an inquisitive nose. I was chased away with much shouting and arm waving. I have not seen humans like this before.
The sun is now setting on my side of the valley. The shadows on my tree begin to lengthen and the land begins to cool. I notice my man, my carer for all these seasons, walking slowly across the grass. I stand up to greet him. His head is lowered and his way of walking somehow more tired than I have seen before. His faithful dog is with him, always at his heels, always obedient.
Today, I am encouraged to move with a small flick of the hazel switch he always carries. I know what to do. I don’t need any encouragement from the switch or from the dog’s malevolent snapping at my heels.
I realised that today is my day.
I walk towards the gap in the hedge and across the track towards the human buildings. I enter the building and, guided by the man, I walk into a stall with many metal rails. They jangle and ring, as the gate opens and close behind me like a peel of bells from a once long forgotten church. The man who looks after me climbs onto the rails of the pen and runs his hands over my head. From his eyes a small diamond tear falls and runs down his cheek. He wipes his face with his arm. We make eye contact – sad eyes. He looks up and I feel something cold pressing against the back of my head.
Suddenly ……………..
Unfortunately, my pupils were not happy with my ending and encouraged me to write an alternative end.
So here goes……
The Old Farmer
The farm had been in our family for generations. I had worked with my father and he had worked with his father and so it was as far back as anyone could remember.
Times change. I never married and so I had no children who could have inherited the Farm. As I became older, I became slower and had to gradually reduce my work and my livestock. Eventually, Mirabelle was the only animal left.
I had debts to pay, and when a buyer came along I readily accepted their offer even though I did not like their plans.
When the time came, I collected Mirabelle from her field and led her to the old barn. She seemed to understand. She entered the stall and stood still. We made eye contact. Sad eyes. I’m not ashamed to say that I shed a tear.
The end was swift.
Afterwards, I took Mirabelle into her field and buried her next to her favourite tree. A fit resting place for a loyal friend.
A few days later, I packed and moved out of the farm. It was no longer my home.
