《Left》【Fringe Festival 26】

It was a dairy cow with black-and-white piebald markings, her body roughly the size of a motorcycle. On her left ear was a yellow tag with the number 9765 and a barcode—presumably for identification. Her entire life would consist of either being milked or being sent to slaughter.

 

At the time, I simply wanted to get a little closer to observe the farm's cows up close, maybe even try touching one or feeding it some grass. I placed the fresh grass I had just picked from the meadow on top of the fence. She slowly walked over and ate it. Then I placed more grass on the fence again, but this time she didn't approach. Instead, she turned toward the wooden posts on either side of the fence and began rubbing her body against them to scratch an itch.

 

I stepped forward, thinking I could help her scratch. But as I got closer and looked more carefully, I noticed that her eyes were brimming with tears, glistening and wet. It turned out she had been repeatedly rubbing her neck against the hemp rope tied to the post—sometimes with so much force that she knocked her own ear—hoping to slowly wear through and break the rope. If she could snap it, she might be able to push open the fence and escape from this place.

 

I stood there, completely at a loss. Should I help her by opening the fence? If I did, what would other people think of me?

 

"If you are a cow, be like a cow."

 

In the end, I did nothing. I simply watched in silence as she walked away.

 

Recorded on August 31, 2023, at Zaanse Schans Windmill Village, Amsterdam, Netherlands