Saturday, June 4, 2011

The Matchless Vale De-animated

Today may have been my last day as a meadow warden, through no choice of my own. I scratched Fluffy and No. 349, watched the increasingly curly-coated calves snuffle their mums, and skimmed their water trough. Last month, the cows endured a vicious dog attack that, surprisingly, made the news as far away as New Zealand. Perhaps it was due to Petersham Meadow's celebrated beauty. Or the universal conflict between pets (really their owners) on public right of ways, and livestock.

In this case, the attack dog was part pit bull, what the Brits call an "illegal dog." A fellow meadow warden, Claire, who captured the attack on her camera, told me these dogs must be licensed and monitored by the police. While the owner and dog fled the scene, they were tracked down in half a day. (Perhaps there is an advantage to all these CCTV cameras everywhere. I just didn't know their acute vision extended to the meadow.)

The perfect storm stems from the muddy zone between public rights, health & safety regulations, Council land ownership, and the risk-averse National Trust managing the land. Meanwhile, an increasingly obstreperous segment of the public refuses to acknowledge the signs to keep dogs on leads, or barbecues out of the meadow-- both hazards to livestock roaming on and over public paths.

During my brief career here, I've seen small children gaze on the cows from an oak stump in the pasture for the better part of an hour, utterly transfixed--and weep to leave. Parents towing their older kids to show them descendants of the cows they grew up with. Hikers stopped in their tracks and figuring out how to get through the herd, mostly with bemused smiles. I've spoken with dozens of locals who cherish this bit of bovine heritage in their backyards, and supported the Petersham Trust for years, raising the money to keep the cows on the meadow through open garden days and cake sales. And the cows have done their part as well, anchoring the meadow and keeping it safe from developer's squalls. Last fall, the riparian meadow and cattle care were transferred to the National Trust, along with an endowment. The stipulation was framed in legalese, that the NT would "endeavour" to keep the cows on the meadow. That endeavour ended today.

The National Trust is unhooking themselves from the horns of the dilemma by shipping the cows and calves back to farmer Michael Bovingdon in Slough. After a mere six months, they are unwilling to carry the risk of a lawsuit, should someone be injured by a cow.

It raises all kinds of questions, not least of which is what have we trampled in our rush to maximize individual rights and freedoms. I think about the surly man who told me he would jolly well keep his german shepherd off lead because the dog is always under voice control. Or the 12-strong group of party folk who told Lin to shag off last weekend when she said fires were prohibited. Have we forgotten that livestock are more than trees dressing the stage of our theatre? That they might have something to teach us, if we were open to another way of being?

This was the closest herd to Hyde Park--a factoid one would have thought bore more intrigue than danger. Who is more of a threat, sloshed urbanites on their weekend idyll, or the cows protecting their young?

By any measurer, this is a tremendous loss. Now when parents bring their toddlers to watch large animals doing what they do, the kids will see a stunningly beautiful, but empty meadow.


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