The Veal Option

As I write this, Rosh Hashana and the accompanying Days of Awe are fast approaching, so my thoughts naturally turn to cows.

The first cow I ever knew in a serious way was a little milker named Shulamit. I was a teenager when I met her at my Socialist-Zionist, Vegetarian-Anarcho-Syndicalist Nuclear Free Zone summer camp, just down the road from Grossinger's in the Catskills. Shulamit was our experimental cow--we were all prepping, we believed at the time, for life as pioneers on kibbutzim, so, clearly, we needed to know all there was to know about the mechanics of cows. Shulamit (I first thought her name was Hebrew for "cow"--I know now, of course, that Shulamit means "horse") wasn't very intimidating, even by cow standards. She wasn't too much taller than I was, and she wasn't in the habit of moving around too much--and before she did, she would let out a a big sour burp to announce her intentions, like a tugboat coming to a drawbridge.
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