Just before dawn, I'm asleep in Cabin #1 in this little Siberian village when the farm dogs start barking furiously. Maybe they're trying to get the stubborn winter sun to push up over the horizon so they can start their official farm duties. But even I, dog-ignorant, know that something panicky is happening. Since I can't see anything from my vantage point under the covers, I must rely on my ears to assess events. Noises are strangely exaggerated & a bit hyper-real, like the sound effects on an old time radio show.
Crunch, crunch, crunch...men running heavily, clumsily through the deep frozen snow in the yard, right outside my window. Thud, a wooden gate crashes. Moo, moo...a hitherto quiet cow begins to bellow loudly ...mooooo, moooooooo. Other cows, some distance away, also begin to moo, softer, elegiacally. Slap, a door slams. Crunch, crunch, crunch footfalls, faster, more urgent. Aaaooooowwwwwwww, the dogs howl. "BepeBka," shouts a man. "Hokk," roars another. Running crunch, crunch, crunch. Moooooooooooo, mooooooooooo. Bang, bang, hooves wildly kick side of barn. "Da da da da," says a man, soft, as to a frightened child. Aaaaooooooowwwwwwwww, dogs gone mad. Mooing suddenly cuts off, gurgle, choking, trying-to-moo, wet cow-cough. Crunch crunch, men's feet. Pop, gunfire, once. Hovering silence. Long, heavy falling thud, cow hits ground, dead. Day begins.
Later that afternoon I learn that one slaughtered cow feeds a family of four for a Siberian winter
Men with hatchets chop selfsame cow into steaks.
Farm dogs know the drill but are stunned & exhausted anyway.
The clean-up crew is in place.
Beady eye of a vulture
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