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Life's mysteries are those things that can be explained by the most simple things. Like milk.

On the first day, Jeremy stands with his pitchfork. "They're fuckin' doin' it again". He scratches his head. He doesn't have time for this. It's much too close to the season where it is time to actually use what they were for in the first place.

His cows are covered in scars, oozing with wounds along their heads and chest. He watches and knows they often wander into, or bump the electric fence.

But only lately have they started acting like this. Some of them run in circles, crying out. He also knows others have been suffering from puncture wounds along their ribs and belly.

"Fuckin' cows," he sighs angrily as he walks up to the fence. He knows how stupid cattle can be. He spends hours of the day tuning the voltage of the fence. He knows they'll be staying away from it now. Jeremy is a rash, stern farming man. He didn't go to school. He only remembers growing up with his father here, who has now long passed. He now only cares for the outcome of his cattle, and knows what has to be done.

On the second day, Jeremy pulls up in his pick up truck from a long day of selling crops and fruit at the flea market in the city. He slams the door and looks to the field. All of the cattle circle on the other side of the pen are in a panic. On the other side, one of them sizzles, as it has mangled itself in the electric fence, trying to jump through. Its muddy, but milky yellow hide was stained with blood, as it had struggled so hard within the wire fence. "Stupid fuckin' cows," Jeremy feels loss. Although, he questions its motives to himself. Cattle are stupid, after all.

On the third day, Jeremy is covered in mud and rain. He tries everything to pull the dead cow from the wires, but it won't budge. It stinks and is much too heavy; he pulls and pushes uncomfortably. The other cows stand still on the other end of the fence well away from Jeremy. As he ends his struggle with the corpse, he looks into the field to see the cows. Two of them are much more bloated; they should be giving birth soon.

On the fourth day, one young cow is born just as Jeremy predicted. He watches from his window; the morning is grey with thunder in the distance. The mother cow licks the calf clean of fluid; still huddled with the other cattle on the far, north side of the pen. He plans to sell the young calf, he can make a lot of money off of it. Or perhaps he can use it himself?

On the fifth day, the young calf is gone. The other cows continuously stir in a panic, accidentally zapping themselves on the north side of the pen. Meanwhile Jeremy grabs the dead cow by the ears and tries to pull it out of the tangled mess of wires it got itself trapped in.

He accidentally electrocutes himself doing it and backs away. He's created much more of a mess than there originally was.

The rain keeps the flies away thankfully, but the mud near the pen is almost unbearable. What was he going to do with the dead cow? Its stomach, cut from being worn out by the wire is cut and spills out. Innards hang everywhere and there is nothing Jeremy can, or will do about it.

"Stupid fuckin' cows making a god damned mess of my yard!"

On the sixth day, Jeremy walks outside scratching his beard, looking over the corpse of the electrocuted cow. Its head and front leg have been taken from the corpse in the night; the only two things that were not tangled in wire. He lifts the stump to understand the wound.

The cut is very dirty. It looks gnawed on, or perhaps chopped by something. Something with many serrated edges, or teeth has made its way with the dead bovine. His frustration with the trapped cow boils over quickly. "Fuck!" He storms away. What a mess. If anyone comes over, what will he have to tell them? Luckily nothing has been delivered to him here for years, or else he might have to face charges for what's happening on his property.

On the seventh day, he woke up early chasing coyote out of his yard away from the corpse with a shotgun. Perhaps they're what have been stirring the stupid cows into a panic? He heads into the pen with two buckets in hand. The cows are very afraid. They haven't been eating and they've gone thin. Cattle like these can't be used. He needs them to eat, so he tries to relax them as best as he can. He fills the trough full of grounded up food he made himself.

He's heard the city folk saying that the cows would get more sick this way, but Jeremy knows the cows will be fine. Besides he eats it as well and he's one of the healthiest farmers at the flea market. Ground up food isn't that bad. The cow that had given birth is the most sickly. It lays in a stupor. Perhaps it is suffering from problems with separation, or perhaps it is stressed from the process of birth. Jeremy leaves the pen, hoping his cattle will eat. He doesn't need any more messes, just meaty, healthy cows.

On the eighth day, the mother cow's leg has been broken. It cries out loudly, which is what originally woke up Jeremy before daylight. He sees it hobbling, its leg swinging like a pendulum. Each cow practically leaks of saliva. They're starving, but won't eat. They've become so stressed they have resorted to biting each other in self defense.

The other pregnant cow walks with a dead fetus laying out of its backside. It doesn't seem to mind. "Stupid fuckin' cows!" Jeremy crosses his arms in defiance of the terrible fate that has stricken his farm. He still doesn't understand why they're acting so rash. He can't deal with the cattle today, he's been building onto his home. He grabs his rusty, red hacksaw and heads back towards his house.

On day nine, the farmland stinks of death. The heat of the morning attracts hundreds of flies to the trapped headless cow, as well as two new freshly starved, dehydrated cattle and the unborn calf. There was a lot of cleaning up to do. He picks up his pitchfork in the pen.

The cattle all fester, struggle and ooze constantly from burns created by the fence. Their eyes barely shine a lifeless dim grey while saliva constantly oozes from their mouths. None of them panic any longer. They don't eat, or move. They stand or lay. It seems that they've grown too tired of their constant panic.

On the tenth day, Jeremy opens his broken freezer, puts Delilah's wet head on a plate, sits down and bites into its raw, pink nose, ripping off a chewy chunk. His mouth sputters, full of cold flesh. "Stupid cows!" He blurts out a high, accented laugh and slams his fist down on the table.

Credited to corpsecreature