“How are you feeling today, Mable?” A female scientist with long, mousy brown hair and a skinny frame warmly asked as she approached a brown dairy cow in a sunny pasture. She carefully placed a wooden board in front of the cow.
Mable was lost in thought, visions of her past swirling in her head as lamentations assailed her. There were good days and bad; a single day could see her going through a roller coaster of emotions, but she could also go days at a time lost in the illusion of cow-hood. Her human brain-- her sapience and ability to think and feel like a human, remained intact after nearly three years in her bovine form. Her greatest reprieve came in the form of occasionally allowing her cow instincts to put her on auto-pilot, the times when she could graze and live like a cow while her human doubts and worries faded into the background.
She raised her heavy head, still smacking her lips and moving her massive tongue as she blankly looked at Angela, the doctor who had been tending to her.
Angela frowned slightly before smiling again. “It’s okay. I can come back another time,” she offered, moving toward the wooden board.
Mable blinked, snapping back to reality. “MooOOO!” She pleaded.
Angela stepped back, happy to have Mable’s attention. A short moo that started quiet and grew louder near the end essentially meant, “Stop, wait!”.
Mable heavily stepped forward, eyeing the board. She then began to rhythmically clop her right hoof upon the wooden surface.
Initially, Angela’s idea was to teach Morse code to those infected with Livestock Syndrome, and Mable proved the test successful. Whether mid or post-transformation, transformees could learn new skills just like any average human. She waited patiently, allowing Mable the time needed to say her piece.
“Today… Sad… Lonely… Bored…” Mable began before uttering a subdued moo.
Angela placed a hand on Mable’s shoulder, offering a gentle and sympathetic rub. “Can I do anything for you, sweetheart? Do you need something to calm your nerves?” She had found reasonable success in administering anxiety medication as needed to those infected, though they took measures to prevent addiction. Mable was an excellent patient who rarely requested such drugs.
Mable shook her head. “My… Room… Television… Computer… When?” She asked, her tail hanging low.
Angela winced. It had been hard enough fighting for enough budget to maintain the government-sanctioned ‘First Dawn Farm’ in the way she desired; convincing the powers above to grant what was considered expensive ‘luxuries’ to those infected was a difficult task. With the looming threat of overcrowding, there were even talks of giving each transformer a smaller living space, more akin to what typical cows, pigs, horses, etc., might live in. She looked at a few other cows grazing and mooing, feeling sympathy. Each of these bovid beings had loved ones and friends with whom they would never again share regular human intimacy. The one saving grace for Angela was that the human research and testing performed on the farm were deemed valuable as the nation’s understanding of Livestock Syndrome grew.
“Angela?...”
This time, Angela snapped back to reality. “I haven’t been able to get those yet. Not in a way you can easily use. I have been working on something on my own time, though; do you want to come see?” She asked hopefully.
While somewhat disheartened, Mable nodded her head. She had nothing to lose and was excited by the prospect of any form of normalcy.
A few minutes later, they arrived at Mable’s living quarters. An exceptionally advanced, private cowshed furnished to resemble a human room as much as possible. There were ground-level cushions set up like sofas where Mable could lay, along with some paintings and art pieces as requested by Mable to suit her tastes. In a small, closet-sized offshoot at the back left of the living quarters, there were hoof-sized temperature controls on the floor and a simple, one-button lighting control that allowed Mable to cycle through various light settings. At the back right side of the living space was a doorway leading to a private, hay-covered outside area where Mable could defecate in peace before returning inside.
“Stay right here,” Angela insisted, taking her leave. The door automatically opened and closed via a retinal scanner, allowing Mable easy access. She returned a couple of minutes later with a large back. “Just one sec…” She opened it and pulled out a radio, setting it near the front-left corner of the room where there was space. She then pulled out some foot-- or ‘hoof’ pedals and took a minute to rig them up properly. “Come here, and I’ll explain it to you.”
Mable curiously stared and nodded, waddling forward as her tail flicked from side to side. Any distractions were welcome. When she reached the corner, she peered down and examined the pedals. Each had an inscription that she could glean the meaning of immediately. ‘On/off, volume up, volume down, and-- these three?’AM/FM…’ She thought to herself. Before needing to clop her hoof to communicate, Angela continued.
“These pedals control the radio! As you can probably guess, these are the on/off switch and volume controls.” She gestured to the following two, which showed two arrows facing left upon one and two facing right on the other. “These are for seeking channels; you can seek forward and backward. The last switch is the AM/FM toggle! Why don’t you give it a try?”
Mable tentatively looked between Angela and the radio. ‘Look how much work it takes to let me pretend I’m even slightly human,’ she lamented but quickly forced the thought out. She nodded and began to work the controls.
In a matter of minutes, Maybe had a full grasp of how to use her new radio. She could choose what she wished with relative ease, and there were many channels to pick from. Even if just briefly, her mind drifted away from Jeanie and the others, enthralled by her new luxury. Something as simple as a usable radio went a long way toward making Mable feel less bestial and pitiable. “Moooo!” She let out a content moo, unable to contain herself as her tail happily swished.
“I am so happy you like it!” Angela beamed. “I know it’s not much, but I’ll keep fighting for you and your friends here.”
They went through the motions of saying goodnight before Mable was left alone in her quarters, nothing but the quiet whirring of the air conditioner to keep her company. She placed a hoof forward and began to operate the radio, finding a station that played prog and indie music. Once done, she paused and stared at her new amenity-- or, through it, instead, as regret flooded her. There were so many things she still wanted to do as a human. There was her beloved Joel, whom she’d never marry while wearing a white dress, going out to clubs, dancing, trying on clothes, and eating questionable all-you-can-eat sushi with Jeanie-- all lost to her.
She trudged over and mechanically operated the light switch, dimming it to near darkness before carefully seating herself upon one of the large cushions. With a mix of emotions and quiet music filling the room, she let out a low, mournful moo and closed her eyes, resting her chin forward. Before long, she fell into a troubled slumber full of confusing dreams where she still had opposable thumbs and could laugh and smile with all she loved, only to transform into a cow before their eyes, letting out loud moos as they cast her disgusted looks and abandoned her.
Livestock Syndrome wasn’t easy-- not even remotely so, but what were the options? Be a cow or be dead, and she refused to pick the latter.