A terrible smell and an unidentifiable noise drives me out of the tent. What the [bleep] is that?
Right next to the tent by the river, cows are gathering, poking at something and making a fierce bleating noise. Some kind of fight, I guess? Oh, no! This is a pasture for our horses, and no local cow is going to eat their already poor mountain pasture. I think to myself as I put on my boots to go throw the cows out, “Hey, buddy, take off your glasses and come on out, we’re grazing here today.” Oh, no. You can’t throw these cows out. There’s an old, moldy, half-eaten cow carcass lying in the middle of the river. Where did we get the water for tea tonight? It’s going to be another intestinal poisoning. No wonder, the other cows have visibly gathered for the cow ritual of mourning a dead companion. No amount of hand waving or hammering will help this time. I’ll just have to wait for them to complete this ritual. The lead cow will be out. Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! She’s screaming painfully and emphatically. “She was a great companion. She was always there for us. She never let us down.” I can totally hear her say. The second cow on her right hoof pushes her shoulder away. Whoo! Oooooh! She adds. “Plus she always helped us at night watching the herd. She was a good cow.”
Woo-hoo. The other cows in the crowd around the carcass add in chorus.
The young bulls, meanwhile, begin their fights for the day in the morning dew. Tuff! Tuf! The horn blasts echo across the mountain meadow.
What a place for a tent! I guess that’s the end of today’s sleep.The bulls continue to fight for a while and then the mother cows go to sort them out. “Move to the pasture”, she urges them with her head towards the rocky path in the hillside. Ugh, good thing these cows have a grazing destination somewhere over the ridge. The meadow becomes orphaned again and the horses begin to graze peacefully.
Well, good morning, Kyrgyzstan! You won’t find this wake-up call in Brno.
