COUNTRY LIFE
IT was a bright morning, and, as I went down the valley, I overtook a man on foot who walked with the aid of a stick and had a collie at his heel. Farther on, I passed two men on bicycles and then a battered car towing a trailer with a calf in the trailer trying to poke its wet nose through the mesh of a net. The travellers were on their way to the stock sale. My route took me past the place. I had a glimpse of a large transport, a cluster of cars, some pens and a number of men perched on a rail, listening to the endless talk coming in a spate from the mouth of the auctioneer. A stick waved in the heart of the crowd by the auctioneer, and I imagined someone advancing his bid and becoming the owner of a calf or even a cow. The sun in my eyes made it hard for me to see what was on the road, but 1 slowed in time to avoid a bullock that was on a sad journey alone, goaded by a man with a hazel rod. I hoped I was wrong in the thought that the bullock might be on his way to the meat-hooks, for it was a depressing thought when the morning was so brilliant.
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