Stirring The Gene Pool

Irene pays the twenty dollars entry. Terence gets in for free.

Just in time for the tour. Will is about to show a group of visitors the Rare Breeds of cattle.

At present, says Will, we have a few Naduana here. They're a miniature zebu from Sri Lanka. They range in height from ninety to a hundred and seven centimetres..... here's one now. You can pat her, she won't bite you.

How CUTE! says a tourist. She reaches down to pat the zebu.

The zebu rolls its eyes at the tourist. The tourist backs off.

We're also expecting some Watusi, says Will. From Africa. The Cattle of Kings. They'll be arriving shortly.

Shortly? The zebu looks sour.

I'm passionate about preserving the gene pool, says Will. Domestic farm animals are disappearing at the alarming rate of two breeds a week, globally. These are unique, irreplaceable gene pools we maintain here.

How inspirational! says Irene.

And now let's move on to the sheep, says Will. We have Blackhead Persians, Drysdales, Ronderib Africaners, Damora, and African 4-horns. Step this way. Mind the ... oopsy!

The group moves on to the sheep, except for Terence, who stays behind with the miniature cow.

You're not a zebu, says Terence. Zebus have stripes.

You're not the first kid to think that, says the zebu.

Do you like beetroot? asks Terence.

Have you got some? asks the zebu?

No, says Terence. Why are you asking?

I thought you had, says the zebu.

You're not the first cow to think that, says Terence. Ha ha, now we're even.

What have you got then? asks the zebu. I'm hungry.

Nothing, says Terence.

In that red net bag, says the zebu. I can smell it.

Terence sniffs. Yes, it's the same smell that he smelled in the car, and the smell that tainted the cheese and beetroot sandwiches.......

It's just feathers, says Terence. See, they came off my parrot. It died.

Nice 'parrot' feathers, says the zebu. Was it transitioning?

What does that mean? asks Terence.

Turning into something else, says the zebu.

Actually yes, says Terence. We call it reincarnating in Hindu.

Because those feathers look like peacock feathers, says the zebu.

Well, it wasn't turning into a peacock, says Terence. It was turning into a person. It already has.

Yes I can see, says the zebu, peering closely at the feather-lined net bag. It's got eyes and a beak. Are you sure it's a person?

This isn't the person, says Terence. The person's gone surfing.

Lucky person, says the zebu.

I'd better go, says Terence. I have to look at the sheep now.

Bye then, says the zebu. I wouldn't have eaten it anyhow.

What? asks Terence.

The stinky shrunken head in your amulet, says the zebu.

Why not? asks Terence.

I'm a ruminant, says the zebu.

Me too, says Terence. I never stop thinking.