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Morning moo

When I got up this morning, the clouds were on the ground and the sky was pink.

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The view from Mum and Dad’s back porch is towards the Brindabellas, which are blue and purple in the morning.  Some of them have snow caps.

My parents’ house is in the middle of a large property, and the landlord — who lives on a neighbouring property — grazes the cattle in the paddocks around the house. They’re lovely, benign things, and very nosy.  When Mum and Dad first moved in, the cows were able to stroll through the house paddock at will, and ate a sizeable portion of Mum’s potted hydrangeas when they did so.  Now the fences are mended, and the garden grows unmolested.

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When Dad starts his car in the morning, in the carport near the hay shed, the cows begin hurrying towards the fence to watch him carefully, mooing to each other: they think he’s going to bring them bales of hay. When he drives off without feeding them, they stand around, looking…not disappointed, since cows don’t seem to venture into that level of intensity of emotion, but resigned.

I would like to make friends with the cows and pat their noses; they don’t seem too keen on the idea.

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