Two bulls are at either end of the station. One has sporadic curly hairs on its head, the other looks like it has been closely shorn, though it has been this way since birth. They are regarded as bulls of the same temperament, same personality even, despite one having had more success with breeding, the other being blamed for the blemish on his rump. They stare, from either ends of the station, at the cattle between them.
It’s a Sunday, and the one with the close hair, the slimmer of the two, has been chosen for the mating circle. Every few months he is made to spray his seed with no real-lasting euphoria. Staring enviously into the distance, wondering what lay beyond the fences he has always seen, for however long it is he has been alive. A life spent living and penetrating; forced by nature and an overall-wearing, clef-palate drooling farmer to procreate, though all he wants to do is eat, beyond those fences.
Peculiar as the farmer is, he decides on this day to place the curly haired bull with just one cow. This cow is smaller than the rest, more of a coffee colour. The bigger bull has a semi-permanent mate, now. He has done well on this farm.
The other will be left to parade the mating circle every few months, spraying his seed with no real-lasting euphoria. Hoping that one day he’ll be again be placed with just one cow. Preferably the one that is smaller than the rest, more of a coffee colour. The one that keeps staring over the paddocks at him. Unable to jump the fences, unable to escape the charge of the other bull, the bigger one. The one she has to mate with now. But perhaps not forever.