Whether they walk on two legs or four, cattle tend to fear chaos more than the abattoir. But that’s the conclusion, let me start with the preface.
Can you help Farmer Joe and his son get a cow out of a well?
That was the initial exchange between Mrs. Porter and me to a call for aid from the wife of a family friend. The next Q&A was a bit more pointed.
What the fuck do I know about extracting a goddamned cow from a well?
Just go help them.
And so sometime later I found myself in the unusual position of looking down at a highly perturbed juvenile bull securely plugged into the bottom of a narrow hole in the ground.
How in the hell?
Farmer Joe and his 20-something son offered no response aside from shrugs. They had been futilely laboring throughout the morning to liberate the animal, with absolutely no cooperation from the beast itself. My initial assessment of the task was curt: Boys, the only way that thing’s coming out of there is in patties.
Though they were more optimistic, and even had a plan. The general idea being for two men to rappel down the shaft and fasten ropes while a third hauled the entire production up by a tractor.
Now I don’t know how familiar readers are with the characteristics of intact bulls, but even sub-adults are enormously powerful and uncongenial creatures. Putting yourself in a tight and awkward space with a 1,000 pounds of infuriated hoof, horn, and muscle is a particularly efficient method for turning wives into widows.
But the farmers were committed, and so down they went. And frustrated they emerged. Again and again and again. Each time I would begin to pull them up, the bull’s muddy flailing would defeat the jury-rigged harness while making it too dangerous to manually adjust on the rise. By its own dumb fear of relief in unfamiliar form, our prisoner was sentencing itself to a miserable demise. The Vegas line grew increasingly short on my patty prediction.
Eventually Farmer Joe came to agree with my assessment. He was ready to simply tie a noose around its neck and haul out what would be a carcass by the time it reached the surface. But his son was certain a solution existed just over the horizon. He kept going down, adjusting, correcting–somehow escaping each attempt without shattered bones or perforated organs.
It all seemed a bit foolishly quixotic until I looked back during yet another pull to astonishingly see the bull actually coming up–filthy, exhausted, and crazed, but alive. Interestingly, it was only once its head had breached the surface that its own frantic efforts actually aided rather impeded its cause. That’s a relevant concept to remember.
As I reflected on the event later, I found myself immensely impressed with the farmer’s son. Impressed much by his engineering ingenuity, but more with his unwavering conviction that solutions can be found even when fully concealed behind a slab of brisket. A conviction hardy enough to survive even down in the dangerous thrashing muck.
I mentally contrasted him with the effete coastal antifas of his age who would surely sneer at such a social-justice insensitive occupation. As they each imagined their food originating with great spider-legged matrix machines plucking placid charolais from machine-manicured pastures and dropping them into agricultural processing chutes that terminate in neat stacks of cellophane at Whole Foods.
But more to the topic was understanding how often creatures will struggle to maintain even the most wretched stasis when the alternative is novel. I realized a lot about Germans that day.
And that realization aided my digestion of recent news that would otherwise be the logical equivalent of ipecac. It really can’t be overstated what a lavish treason the German people have suffered at the hands of Merkel. It’s not something any of them ever seem inclined to contemplate, but democratically-elected executives are nowhere granted the license to facilitate foreign invasion of their own countries.
A vast catalogue of conflict of interest regulations exist to ensure that every Western government executes its duties in the national rather than personal interests. Whether Merkel, and all the other surface-congealing scum, personally want a Germany of Africans is wholly irrelevant to her obligations to the Germany of Germans. If she couldn’t bring herself to act as their representative, she was morally bound to step down as chancellor and pursue her conscience honestly on the Open Society payroll. This isn’t blogger bullshit; it’s fundamental ethics. If you take your employer’s (German taxpayer) money, you agree to serve their interests. If you can not serve their interests, you resign. Honest people actually do this occasionally in the business world. But enough right-wing extremism.
Merkel, of course, chose to neither serve her employer’s interests nor to resign. What she chose instead was to toss her employer down a well by inviting millions of hostile foreigners into his ancient home. And since finding themselves in these dark, miserable confines, you might think the German people would rush toward offers of aid. But if you thought that, you know very little about the behavior of trapped animals.
This behavior is precisely what the Alternative for Germany party is learning right now. Because the lone viable party trying to pull their people out of the well is being politically gored by the very object of their rescue mission.
Germany’s far-right Alternative für Deutschland party fell to its lowest polling point in seven months, hinting that the Trump tidal wave is not one Germans are eager to ride.
A poll by the Institute Allsenbach and Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung asked whom respondents would vote for if elections were held Sunday. Just 8.5 percent said AfD, led by Frauke Petry — the first time since July the extreme right-wing party has slipped below the 10 percent threshold, and its worst poll numbers since Dec. 2015. Another poll, conducted by Forsa Institute and Stern magazine, had AfD at just 8 percent.
I can assure you, as indicated by subtle non-verbal cues–like trying to kill him, the young bull would not have voted for the farmer’s son either. In fact, I would speculate with supreme confidence that the Farmers’ Son party would poll even worse than AfD among cattle trapped in wells. But the following quote was the true bolt of insight.
Forsa chief Manfred Güllner suggested AfD’s poor performance was because of President Donald Trump’s “chaotic leadership,” which “is tending to cause alarm” among Germans. They are mostly throwing their support behind the current German chancellor, Angela Merkel, of the center-right CDU, and Martin Schulz, of the center-left SPD.
It’s not yet an abattoir, but Trump’s “chaotic” leadership is causing panic at the well. Germans see an American left wildly thrashing at a man trying to fasten ropes and have decided they want no part of his endeavor. The cold mud is quite peaceful, by comparison.
Of course it’s hardly preferable to actually standing in a field, but no one calls drowning cattle mean names. Well actually they do, but at least you can’t hear it as well below the surface. Unfortunately the stoic Mr. Schulz, who promises not a single rescue molestation, is trying to speak louder by offering to give millions of “refugees” the vote. Though I suppose this could be seen as simply a humane gesture bringing Germans closer to the dark’s serene release. At least that’s how his emerging electoral plurality seems to view it.
It’s all as predictable as it is exasperating. An utterly betrayed and intensely propagandized people thrashing against help so they may peacefully expire in a hole. Germans, you really don’t have to die like this. But it’s your choice to make. I’m just as happy to let a blond blustery farmer’s son haul me up a few feet.