A few weeks ago I found myself in Norco, home to many happy Californian cows. Let’s take a looksy from the passenger seat of an automobile.
This is an odd community, seemingly in flux from its agricultural roots into some heavy suburban trappings. The air still smells like cow poo.
The cows are there. But they are kept in their concentration camps, far away from the passing motorists. I remember in my youth stopping with the family to touch some cows in Altadena (I think that’s where I was) and pose for a few memorable pics. That’s not happening here.
Way over there.
This cow farm was strange: they had a ranch style home in front and a manicured lawn, and just beyond the veneer of a suburban scene was a dense cow factory. I wish I’d had the time to go and take some steps to see beyond the lawn.
Sign reads: ” SE BedEN PUE-RCOS y BESEROS”
I think they meant ‘venden’.
Advertising the benefits of a suburban home. “You won’t believe what’s included!” Aka, the smell of cows.
Cow food stacked to the sky.
Birds making a ruckus on their electric perches.
Cow butts, all lined up.
Two of those butts headed to not-so-green pastures. Yer time is up Happy Cow, death awaits.
Taking the party to the slaughter. Last one to stay alive wins! Err, for a few minutes I guess.
Cow factories are also cheese factories. I eat cheese.
It always ends in pain.