I’ve always thought the number seven was my lucky number. I don’t know why but I suppose it’s because I was born on the seventh of the month. And besides it’s the number of days in a week. Seven! Seven! Seven! What could be luckier?
Then, would you believe, when the farmer gave me an ear tag it was number seven. It was so surreal! So wonderful! I am such a lucky, lucky cow! And to top off the excitement, today we are going in a big truck they say for a picnic. Can my good fortune get more exhilarating than that? It’s to the grounds of a big mansion called Abattoir – it sounds so very French and exotic. Oh this can only be my lucky day!
Weave a Web 
I’m about to put my 7th steak on the barbecue. I got distracted . Something about 7 I read here.
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Enjoy!
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You’ll be in seventh heaven.
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Ha! Hell yes!
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My lovely, but totally deranged Canaian niece says they don’t eat meat from cute little cows. Their meat comes from the supermarket.
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Your niece is clearly a very sensitive soul, and I would hope as well she gets her milk out of bottles.
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What a sad story…that cow would have been legen-dairy.
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When the cow discovers that an abattoir is a slaughter house she’s going to be in a quandairy.
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She will be udderly devastated.
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Bull.
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I won’t finish that
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Lucky!
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That’s a good lesson why one should never overwork one’s lucky charm. If the cow was lucky enough, it’s turn will come within 7 hours of reaching there and it will die within 7 seconds of being put under the saws.
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It pays to be positive.
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This is a very sad story, poor cow…!
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I agree. It is a sad story!
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