This is a short story I wrote about a cow named Betty. It's fiction — but the reality it points to is not. Sometimes a story can say what facts alone cannot.
A short story by Justin Cain (Pen Name)
“Welcome to Happy Cow Farms, where milk does the body good. I’m Mr. Carlson. I’ll show you around, starting with the dairy barns.”
“God damn it! I can’t do this anymore,” was soon followed by a deafening silence, where everyone shifted their weight making the metal beneath them moan with age. Eyes and heads turned side to side in fear and dismay. Then it started with a few unrecognizable words, progressing to a loud crescendo of excuses, foul language, and apologies. Nothing that Betty wanted to hear.
“Shut the fuck up!” she screamed again, making a worker open the door, look around, and quickly closed it. A few were still murmuring in the back. “I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“What do you mean, Betty?” Jasmine asked, her voice trembling.
Betty glared, a fire lit beneath months of exhaustion. “I mean, this shit has got to stop. I need a vacation. You know we don’t live that long. I’m almost six years old, and I haven’t seen the light of day.”
Caroline shook her head, pleading. “They’ll send you away! Once they open those doors and you walk—”
“Good! Let them,” cutting her off. She staggered on unsteady, battered legs but forced herself to stand tall. “What the hell does it matter? I’m done, Caroline. Done.”
Silence. Betty’s words echoed against the barn walls like a death knell. It was like staring at a bloody train wreck, eyes wide open. Her outburst shook them all.
“Betty’s losing it,” one of the cows muttered.
“Yeah girl, get with the program,” another chimed in.
Betty clenched her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. She was pathetic and could barely stand. Her sagging belly, hanging low. Her hide, wrinkled and spotted, told her the truth. She wasn’t producing milk anymore. She wasn’t even a mother, thanks to Happy Cow Farms.
“Maybe they send you to a petting zoo,” one speculated. “Lie in the sun, have kids scratch your forehead. Stuff like that.”
“Bullshit! They’ll ship you far away, put you in a cage for people to gawk at your tits.”
“In your fucking dreams, moron,” someone snorted. “More like they grind you up for dog food.”
Caroline’s gaze darkened. “Or maybe just a bigger hell-hole to cry in.”
Betty’s laughter interrupted their theories. “You still don’t get it. What happened yesterday or the day before doesn’t matter, but what’s important is what we do about it today!”
Jasmine shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting from Betty to the door like she was afraid it might swing open any second and change her life forever. “I don’t get it. What do you mean, Betty?”
“Are you blind? They don’t give a shit about us. They never have.” Betty’s voice cracked, showing them all how close she was to the end.
They shuffled nervously. Torn between truth and hope.
“You’re wrong,” another cow protested.
“Am I?” Betty snapped back. Her eyes narrowed, “look at yourselves. Look at me! We’re trapped in this relentless cycle of hate and misery.”
Caroline sighed, her voice a fragile thread. “I am tired too, but what can we do?”
“We start by dropping the buts! We endure pain, humiliation, disease, and hatred every day, crammed into tiny spaces, prodded, and pushed without a moment of peace.” Betty’s defiance grew. “We’ve been branded with numbers, separated from our babies, and treated as nothing more than milk machines. Either we find a way to change this, or we’re doomed to this life forever!”
Betty’s breath labored, the weight of years pressing down. “We stop doing what they want. We stop being what they say we are.” She looked at them, eyes blazing. “We fight every step of the way to freedom.”
Jasmine faced the harsh reality. “Betty’s right,” she said, her voice quivering like a leaf caught in a breeze. “We have to stand up for ourselves, or this will go on forever.”
A hush fell over the barn. The other cows watched, eyes wide and uncertain. Betty raised her head, looking straight into their eyes. “We’re more than what they say we are! Don’t you see? We have to be more than just ‘stupid bitch 1231’!”
The barn pulsed with new energy. The clang of the machinery moved with their beating hearts.
Without warning, the barn doors creaked open to a bright April morning with birds chirping and the wind gently rustling the leaves on the few remaining trees outside. It was like an untold fairy tale for those who lived in the barn.
Three men entered, heading towards 1231’s stall. Two of them were carrying electric cattle prods and the leader had a rope. Not far behind them, another man escorted a young cow. They were moving towards Betty’s stall.
Betty’s heart pounded, and her head throbbed with a rush of hot blood as she realized she was looking at her daughter. “Dora?” Her girl was going to take her place. Emotions erupted like a fiery dragon within her knowing her girl will endure the same pain and suffering as she had.
A rope tightened around Betty’s neck. “Let’s get this bitch loaded up,” one man shouted, tugging the rope. Betty planted her hooves, refusing to move.
The man yanked harder, his anger rising. “Stubborn old bitch!”
Betty thrashed with fury, her legs striking out. One man staggered backward, colliding violently with a metal post. A stream of curses erupted from him as he crashed into the oozing manure. The barn was locked in a tense silence, witnessing the unfolding chaos.
Dora called out, her voice breaking Betty’s heart. “Momma! Momma, it’s you!”
Betty lunged toward Dora, desperation fueling her. “Run!” she bellowed, tripping another man, and sending him to the ground.
The cows roared their approval, but the men rallied, charging at Betty with renewed savagery. This time, they aimed to break her spirit.
Betty felt the cattle prod again. This time, the pain rattled through her so fiercely that everything went white, but still, she had just enough strength to knock him down again.
Then Dora broke free from the man’s control. For one wild moment, it seemed possible that she could escape Betty’s fate, but Dora didn’t run. She moved closer to her mother, confused by the commotion. She watched her mother being brutally assaulted, a wide-eyed child frozen in dismay.
The chaos climaxed as men pinned Betty down to her knees, bringing Mr. Carlson and Jim to an abrupt halt. Jim glared at the scene, tension crackling in the air. “What’s going on over there?”
Mr. Carlson, grinning ear to ear, turned to Jim, “Why, the boys are rounding up a lot of dry cows. They’ll put them on that cattle truck and send them off. These gals don’t produce enough milk anymore, but they’ll make prime ground beef for the supermarket,” he chuckled, watching the last of the cows disappear. “Nothing goes to waste here at Happy Cow Farms.”
Jim’s stomach churned. He turned back towards the barn, his eyes narrowing as he caught glimpses of frantic motion through the open doors. “It looks like to me that they aren’t as happy as your logo pretends,” with animosity in his voice.
“It’s not like they are dogs or cats, right?” Mr. Carlson replied nonchalantly. “They’re stubborn creatures, and sometimes, we have to remind them who is in charge.”
Jim nodded slowly, his expression hardening. The glossy veneer of the dairy farm was peeling back, revealing ignorance, hate, rot and death beneath its cheerful shell. He looked at Mr. Carlson, who seemed oblivious to the growing disdain behind his eyes.
“Excuse me, Mr. Carlson.”
“Where are you going? What are you doing, Jim? We’re not finished.” Jim remained silent as he walked towards his car, the scent of violence and death lingering in the air behind him.
Betty’s story is fiction. The system she lived in is not. If this moved you, these pieces exist for the same reason.
→ You Can’t Love Animals If You Eat Them — Tee | Can’t Save Animals If You Eat Them — Tee | If You Want Enlightenment — Stop Eating Souls | Art Print