Protest of Animals

By Kim Jeong-kyoo

It is Saturday today. I was enjoying a lie-in as I usually do on every Saturday and Sunday, when a couple of magpies and other birds started chattering, ferociously and doggedly in front of my room, touching a very raw nerve.

I decided to be forbearing in the hope that the annoying birds, especially the boisterous magpies would fly away somewhere soon. I love magpies, particularly their striking black and white colors, but hate their whining in short staccato bursts. Their very vocal calls just rub me up the wrong way.

Anyway, birds are frequent visitors to my cottage. Hardly a day of mine goes by without their visit, especially early in the morning that usually disturbs my sleeping. However, this morning, their inflicting the pleasure of my lie-in was more than just an irritation. It was somewhat bizarre. They burst into cries way far louder than usual, never stopping.

What followed the screeching spree of the uninvited magpies and birds were cattle and chickens bursting out mooing and squawking in the chorus, in company with the dogs next door barking fiercely in frenzy, one of which I know has a very foul temper.

I could not imagine exactly what was going on outside at that time of the day, but one thing was for sure, the situation was in a shambles. I sensed a vague angst that something bad was happening somewhere in the quiet village.

On the spur of the moment, I sprang up and burst out of the house to confirm the situation only to see an elderly neighbour who shuffles awkwardly, wheezing and coughing all the time.

``Good morning, grandpa? What's up? What makes them so frantic?'' ``Frantic?'' he asked in a whistling voice with a weird glance at me. ``Dogs, cows, chickens in the whole village and even birds were all making unbearable noises, flapping their wings noisily. What were all those loud noises about? Village people also seemed running in haste?''

``Ah, I guess you are talking about the goddamn oldie selling off his cow. The idiot sold his cow and village folks were there to look on and see the cow off. I've been there, too.'' ``To say goodbye to the cow?'' I asked, implying that it was weird. ``Yes, 'cause she may die for the heartless master in need of paper money.''

``You mean they're going to kill the cow?'' ``Yeah, the foolish old thing sold it to a slaughter to get more money, which would be peanuts, I heard... well, I'm not sure. How poor!'' he said, breathing with difficulty. ``The cow trudged away with its innocent eyes filled with big tears,'' he added in despondent tones, overwhelmed.

I felt sorry that I had missed the last possible encounter with her in my life. I had a great lump in the throat and tried to fight back tears momentarily. Oddly enough, my heart was heavy all day long with a haunting thought: did the poor cattle ever know his death in the offing?

It was quite later that I came to realize what had provoked all the animals and the birds in the village into protesting in such a desperate, uncontrolled way. They definitely knew that one of their good old friends were going to be slaughtered soon.

Tomorrow morning I would love to say with open arms to all those noisy birds, particularly the gratingly-crying magpies, ``You are warmly welcome to visit my cottage any time; you may cry out as loudly as you want, no matter how cacophonous your ranting and raving may sound.''

The writer lives on the outskirts of a southern province.