THERE’S SUMMAT FUNNY ABOUT THAT COW’S UDDER ...

THE church clock was striking quarter past seven as I got out of the car. After a day spent testing cattle for tuberculosis I felt broken in mind and body; I had to suppress a scream when I saw yet another long line of cows’ backsides awaiting me.

Right, no messing about. I was going to make a quick job of this and get off home — home to some food and an armchair.

I went briskly through the process in my mind. Left hand on the root of the tail, right hand under the cow, a quick check on its udders — or ‘bag’, as the locals said — and on to the next one. Eyes half closed, my mind numb, I moved from cow to cow, going through the motions like a robot, with the far end of the byre seeming like the promised land.

And finally here it was, the very last one up. Left hand on tail, right hand under its body. At first my tired brain didn’t take in the fact that there was something different here — but there was. Something vastly different. A lot of space, and instead of the udder a deeply cleft, pendulous something.

I came awake suddenly and looked along the animal’s side. A huge woolly head was turned towards me and two wide-set eyes regarded me enquiringly. In the dull light I could just see the gleam of the copper ring in the nose.

The farmer, who had watched me in silence, spoke up.

‘You’re wasting your time there, young man. There’s nowt wrong wi’ HIS bag!’