The Walk
‘Daddy?’ said the little girl with her already pink nose and wisps of honey hair escaping from bobble hat and coat hood. In some places the snow was deeper than she was.
‘Yes?’ said the tall man with blue eyes and an easy smile. His hand made thick by thinsulate glove held her tiny hand in it’s home knitted one.
‘Why are the cows out in the field?’
‘Because that is where they live,’ he replied.
‘But Daddy, they must be cold, shouldn’t they come in?’
‘I think the farmer moves them to a barn at night, they are fine.’
‘Daddy should we make them cocoa?’
‘Erm… I don’t think so, I don’t think cows drink it. Why?’
‘Mummy always makes us cocoa when we’ve been out exploring,’
‘Yes she does but cows are different,’
‘Really?’
‘Yes’
‘How?’
‘Some people eat cows.’
‘Do you?’
‘No I’m a vegetarian’
‘Does Mummy?’
‘Yes,’
‘Do I?’
‘You have done yes’
‘I haven’t! I’ve not eaten anything like a cow it would moo when you stuck your fork in!’
‘They are dead and cooked and stuff so they don’t look like animals.’
‘What about sheep?’
‘Yes’
‘And pigs?’
‘Yes’
‘Chickens?’
‘Yes’
‘And dead people?’
The father paused for a moment, ‘not in most countries as it is considered not nice.’
‘Why?’
He sighed and realised they had reached that phase of childhood, still everyone would laugh at the retelling. They trudged through the snow back to the warm house with Mummy the meat eater in it discussing the merits of death rituals like burial and burning. It was a good walk.
Posted: Thursday, December 15th, 2011 @ 1:44 pm
Categories: Flash Fiction.
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