Weird. Those cows seem to be creeping nearer to me every time I look away.
Hang on. They’re not cows, they’re bulls! I climb back over the stile to exit the field.
The bulls creep closer and closer, staring at me the whole time.
Why are they staring?
Do they know their fate?
What do they want from me?
Should I set them free?
Ignoring my questions, they continue to stare except for one who moves away from the fence. In my haste to photograph him I trip, crying out, and he panics, jumps forward, then glares at me.
“How can you be scared of me?” I ask him, laughing.
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