Kato enjoying himself tearing hay bale apart,
you're supposed to eat that,
not scratch it up with one hoof, rooster-like.
Poor lad, I get it.
Still, good to see him spirited
despite that leg, meaty and bleeding-swollen,
still hobbling,
still can't put weight on it.
He stands disconsolate, facing into wind.
He knows the girls are over the hill,
he can smell them.
I suspect he knows they're calving too
for though that part of the business
does not particularly interest,
he is,
in the emptying of wombs.
He is also interested in my opening of the gate.
Am I here to let him loose?
That great rumpy caboose of his is twitching,
tail excitedly swishing,
ears swivelling like radar dishes seeking...
bad luck, mate, can't trust you yet.
We've got you corralled
in a six foot wooden rail yard, for your own good.
I don't thrive on seeing you miserable,
believe me.

But better to be Kato Disconsolate,
than one ton of meat swinging from a hook
being dressed for the plate.