World War Zero

It was just last week that I was chatting online to a South African friend of mine who’s currently studying in Germany because, despite all the fancy technical jargon she uses as excuses for studying abroad, she’s really only there because the Germans have larger microscopes. Which is particularly vexing since she’s not a particularly large person herself, being only smidge bigger than those little handbag poodle monstrosities Paris Hilton is always carrying around.

Nevertheless, our conversation drifted off to things she’d been doing in her new country and she mentioned a chocolate shop she’d discovered that even sold chocolates made of sheep milk. And it suddenly occurred to me that I never knew sheep milk existed. In hindsight it makes perfect sense that sheep would of course produce milk, especially for their newborns. Come to think of it, most species produce milk, even humans. But social conditioning usually prevents us from considering the possibility of a farmer running around squeezing ladies’ breasts in an attempt to feed his family; a social faux par of note! So that, combined with our exposure to mostly cow and some goat milk completely – until that online conversation with my friend – impaired my ability to realize that the world of sheep milk existed.

Given this new information, the world as I knew it before my discovery of sheep milk suddenly seems very strange. In such a world milk would still be required for the new born sheep, which of course means that farmers would milk their cows and then hand the buckets over to the sheep. It’s unlikely the farmer would conceal this fact from any of the animals, meaning of course that the cows would first watch each other being milked, then watch the sheep lounging out in the sun on recliners and slowly sipping the cow milk out of the farmer’s pails with bendy straws.

The difference in social standing here is quite apparent, and in a sense very similar to human social structures. The cows represent the working class, with the sweat of their udders (and I mean that quite literally; I still don’t understand why people don’t consider milk to be internal cow sweat) serving to sustain the higher order animals – the sheep. The sheep of course are clearly the supermodels and rock stars of the farming world, what with their bendy straws and recliners and woolen sweaters. The farmer I suppose would represent some form of communist government in this little equation, who takes from everyone and distributes resources as he sees fit, but that’s not overly important in this story.

Still, day after day the poor cows would watch their precious milk being given to the sheep, always resentful of the fact that while they – the cows – do all the work, the sheep reap the benefits. The air would quickly become thick with the smell of hatred and before long murmurs of revolution would likely be heard as the cows plot revenge and an overthrowing of the imposed order. I’m not quite certain how this next part would occur practically, but in my head at least, the cows slowly start smuggling AK47s and land mines into the farm, obtained from other revolutionaries in North Africa. The sheep of course would be blissfully unaware of imminent danger, and take to using hair gel in their wool so as to achieve odd looking styles, much like human teenagers do these days when they make their hair stand up and point in different directions. Apparently the electrocuted peacock look is the latest craze.

And then the catalyst: a young, innocent sheep would take his pail and stroll past the cows, blowing bubbles in the milk or perhaps make a few slurping sounds. The cows would lose all sense of reason. The careful plans of revolution would be forgotten and, incensed by a sudden wave of fury, the cows will grab their weapons of war and open fire on all sheep, massacring all within their sights. The farmer and his family – all of whom were unaware of the festering resentment – would unfortunately be caught in the cross fire as body after body would pile up on the blood soaked farm land until when the sun finally set, only the cows remained.

At sunrise the following day the cows would of course milk each other and plan to meet their new future with exuberance; full of hope that finally justice has prevailed and like the ungrateful, undeserving sheep before them, they too will now lead lives of luxury. And so they would toast their success and prepare to sip their life-giving milk – only to realize that it was the farmer who supplied the bendy straws. And for the rest of forever, the cows would outwardly celebrate their freedom, but internally grieve their defeat, for they would never be quite as content as the sheep once were.

But of course that’s only if sheep didn’t produce any milk, which they do, so everything’s right with the world just the way it is. Which is one great result of my friend studying in Germany.

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