Her name was Daisy.

Her name was Daisy.  While I only knew her briefly, anyone could see that she was sad.  I mean wouldn't you be if you were being held against your will, unable to escape even for a moment.

She liked it when I touched her head, when I ran my fingers through her short hair.  Anyone could see that she wanted to be loved.  I mean, doesn't everybody want love.

Then one day, while I was away, some men came and raped her.  What could she do?  You can't run when you are shackled in a tiny barred cell.  You can't fight at all.  I mean, all you can do is stand there, just waiting for it to be over.

When I saw Daisy again some days later, I could tell she was tired and scared.   She trembled as I came towards her, as if she couldn't tell the difference between me and the guys that hurt her. 

Some time later she gave birth to her beautiful boy.  And at that very moment of joy, when all she wanted to do was see her baby, he was taken from her. 

And killed.  

And then the sucking began.

And then Daisy was raped. Again.

And she gave birth. Again.

And then the sucking began.

And she was raped again.

And she gave birth again.

And the sucking began.  Again.

Until she too was killed. 

This is what happens when you are no longer of use.  

Daisy was a dairy cow. 

And she is just one of the reasons I don't do dairy.