Also on these boards
The people across the road from us on the farm, had white faced cows and many spring and summer mornings, I would wake up with the curtains blowing in my bedroom, to the sound of the lowing of the cows across the street. Sweet memories! Daddy always pointed out the new babies in the herd! How sweet they were and fun to watch.
"At four months old, the “veal” calves are corralled into trucks and hauled to slaughter. As they are dragged onto the killing floor, they are still looking for their mothers, still desperately needing her nurturing presence, especially at that dark time when they are frightened and needing protection more than ever in the midst of the terrible sights, and sounds, and scents of death all around them, and, in their despair, in their want for a shred of consolation and protection."