The day the worm turned

There once was a very special worm.

Now, it is worth mentioning that there are many worms.  So many, in fact, it maybe better to start elsewhere in our story...

A wise old raven asked one of the pigs if she could please get her trotters on a giant set of scales; a bit like the kind that the farmer uses to weight the small animals except, well, much bigger.  When the pig protested the otiosity of the task the raven explained that, should she go through with it, the results would be surprisingly engaging.  Again the pig protested; “Don’t be so eager, oh Raven, to squander my time, for I have truffles to snuffle and should be bathing in slime”.  At last, the Raven, agreed to elucidate the mysterious task and went on to explain why such activity would be so ‘engaging’.  

He unravelled the story and the yarn spun as thus.  The Raven had over heard the tomcat boasting to the new chicks that he had been party to information which would play an important part in his elaborate plan of knocking the old herd of cows off, what he described as their ‘high-horse’; incidentally a phrase so nonsensical to the raven could he only guess the tomcat learnt it from spending time amongst the humans of the farmhouse and doesn’t quite understand what it means.

The information was this.  That if you were to weigh the entire herd of cows against all the worms in the ground underneath their hooves then the worms would out weigh the cows.

When the raven finished his tale the pig stood for a moment, agog.  

“But that would mean...” 

She tailed off as the raven spoke up again “yes, indeed it would.”  

“Well, then we need to tell the tomcat as quickly as possible to keep quiet about this.”  

“I’m afraid it is too late.  The chicks, it seems, have remarkable networks through which to propagate slander.  Half the farm yard has already heard the story and it is starting to move out to the fields”

Historically the cows and the cats had not seen eye to eye.  Partly because of their massive size the cows didn’t feel it necessary to engage with such ‘paltry, scatty and ridiculously single-stomached’ creatures.  The cats on the other hand felt that the cows constant standing-up-ness betrayed deeper insecurities of character, self-belief and purpose; cats, after all, never stand when they... can.... s-p-r-a-w-l.....  

That the cows were in charge didn’t seem to phase the tomcat in his plan to defame the cows throughout the farm.

It’s worth delving into the history here for the cows had indeed been elected leaders in the past; during an era now long forgotten.  Before the humans arrived there were hundreds of years of The Great Freedom.  A time when the animals came together not for their associated and collaborative utility but for leisure; to socialise; to share their lives with each other.  But as the the yoke and bridle of human governance shackled the animals to their function the giddy innocence of their past was dismembered and disregarded.

The animals soon learnt that a new sheriff was in town.  One who harvested them for their milk; stole their eggs and, ultimately, took the meat from their back as payment for room and board.  There was no way out.  Gradually the animals lost their faculties and became more docile.  Speaking less; chewing more.  Whilst all retained their voice; few chose to use it.  

And the cows, once the majestic queens of middle England, now chewed cud in the muddy fields waiting for milking time or the butchers block.

Their unfair disempowerment led to bitterness and cruelty.  Cows would now regularly lash their tails at the friendly flies who used to sit quietly on their backs.  There was even a story of a kitten who lost her life to the on coming stampede of heifers at milking time.  The great cruelty being that all the while animal law clearly stated that the cows had the royal decree and ultimately should be setting an example.  The cows were the crown princesses of The Great Freedom; but their bitterness at being undermined consumed them.

It was one day during the height of summer a few years back that the tomcat had been talking with mouse.  Contrary to popular belief the two races got on well; often tomcat would take his family out for a day with the mice.  Sometimes the kittens would be told off for pretending to swallow the mouse pups but after a quick fur ball and towel dry the mini beast would be up and scurrying again.

The wives and kids were sunning themselves and playing on one of the quiet meadows behind the house while the older gents padded along by the stream.

“You know why though don’t you, old friend?” proclaimed the mouse “they didn’t know how else to do it”

“So, you’re saying it’s as simple as that?!”

The past 20 minutes had been a revelation to the tomcat.  He had never even thought how the cow had come to be in charge in the first place believing it only to be a turn of fate or the will of Kitsomagso.  But this?  So simple?  So arbitrary?  So impossible to change.  He felt immediately elated and hopeless.  How could he change this?  Could he invoke a change in ancient law?  Unlikely since the cows had the final ratification on any law passed in the farm animal world.

At this stage it may seem an unrelated bit of information but cows are in fact very big.  

They weigh on average 3/4 of a ton.  Which is the weight of a small car.  Collectively this means they weigh a lot.  100 cows weighs the same as a small house.

What tomcat had just learnt as mouse flippantly shared his stories was that the cows were not elected, not ordained, not chosen by the pull of a sword from a stone, but merely out of convenience.  It was not in fact one cow who was chosen as queen but, in fact, a whole group of cows.  So the story goes the animal council had gathered to find a new leader.  A grand monarch to rein over them all.  The best way they could think to do this was to weigh each other.

The owls had been working all week with the crows to set up a giant set of scales and each animal took it in turn to sit on one side of the scale.  The small animals sat it out so the cat went first, and versus the rabbit easily won.  The tortoise crept over next.  The scale shifted as he eased himself on but eventually creaked into settling with the cat.  The cat began to wonder if it was his lucky day - perhaps he would be crowned king of the animals like his mane haired cousin was over in Africa.  But on the next measure, against the sheep dog, he was soon dethroned.  Then came the sheep.  Who was heavier.  Then came the pig.  Who was heavier.  Then came the horse.  Who was heavier.  And finally came the cow.  Who was heaviest of all the animals...

The other animals were alarmed.  How did this happen?  They never saw it coming?  They petitioned the owls to recalibrate the scales or reread the rules.  Following which the owls spent the afternoon checking the scales for signs of rot or wear or anything to invalidate the results.  But the simple fact was - the cows were bigger.  

Then one of the smaller owls spoke up: “what about all the cows?” he tweets  “Are they ALL bigger?”

Immediately the great count began.  A group of snakes were called over from the forest - some of them were in fact VERY good with numbers and were given the task of counting how many animals of each breed there were.  They counted all day and all night for 32 days and eventually the result was given.  The cows had won.  They weighed more than any other group of animals.

And so the decision was made.  The cows weigh the most so the cows should be in charge.

Tomcat pondered how simple this was.  Yet so impossible to overthrow.  He knew that the pigs and the horses had allegiance to the cows as they allowed them to share space in their fields and provided the cows with extra tasty bits of grass.  And these were the only other heavy animals around.

The situation was, it seemed, hopeless.

That is until today.

“The revolution is underway!” proclaimed the chicks to the sheep dog, who stirred sleepily from his slumber at the foot of the tractor tyre.

“What do you mean?  I didn’t notice anything?”

“You were asleep you lazy clot” cried the tiniest little chick to the mutt “the cows are being overthrown.  Tomcat has found a rightful successor to the miserable old cudchunks”

At this sheep dog lept to his feet and, upon rounding the corner, found himself staring at quite a scene.  The entire farmyard had gathered in the cows field with the chickens noisily clucking their opinions.  The rats and mice scurrying around.  Owls soared above in broad daylight.  The snakes slithered.  Frogs and toads croaked.  The pigs stood facing off against the sheep and goats.  The horses, whinnying and rearing up, stood in line either side of the cows.  And in the middle of the cacophony tomcat proclaimed loudly that the day of jubilee had come and that, by the power invested in him, a new monarch was to be crowned...

At this raven landed in the midst of the gathering and there.  Was.  Quiet.

Mayor Raven explained about the tomcats story, filling in the holes in his over excited retelling.  But ultimately always pointing towards the fact that yes, indeed, a new king would today be crowned.

The cows was distraught.  And upon learning that they were no longer untouchable immediately to the masses gathered an blithered out a garbled apology for their behaviour.  While their long cow eyelashes flicked away tears and the crowd began to absorb the full significance of the message a being, invisible but already in attendance, began to show themselves to the joined throng.

Quietly, gently, he pushed his pink fleshy head out of the ground and wiggled towards the tomcat and raven.

Indeed this was a very special worm and this was a very special day for the farmyard.

This was the day the worm turned.

M