Special skills

 "Ronnie is a dick. I mean, he's really an ass, I mean a donkey, you know, the poor relative of the noble horse. He's a jackass in more than one way. He told me he wasn't going to carry carrots to the town market, because carrying carrots was cacophonic. As if his braying could be taken as a melodious show of vocal harmony. He also told me Herman the bull was holding a grudge because of the established practices in our farm, and he was plotting something ominous. I laughed at that: Herman liked our time together in the barn. I had proof. So on I went, to grab the bull by the horns, as they say in my language, and see what was the problem. After searching around as if he was a needle and not a fucking huge black bull, there I found him, all alone in his enclosure, ruminating on grass and - so Ronnie swore - grudges.
- Hi there. Herr!
- Don't. I'm ruminating. - He turned his butt towards me.
You see, I've been talking with our animals since I was a child and this farm was my grandpa's. Nobody knew, I wouldn't be such a fool as to tell them, but somehow I understood the moos and coos, the meows and baahs. Just like standard English would sound to you. Simply natural. I noticed Herman's undertail was quite dirty.
- Wanna go for a shower?
- I told you no. Stay away.
- Herman, what have I done to you? Ronnie brays about grudges. You can talk to me!
- It's not that easy... - He was still facing away, swaying his tail and sending the persistent flies attracted by his caked behind straight towards me.
- It can't be that difficult either! Spit it out, you can trust me.
- I can't.
I had to insist a lot, do a lot of guesswork, fail at every attempt, until I decided to trust that ass, not the caked one in front of me, and asked:
- Is it about what happens in the barn?
- Well... In a way...
And he finally opened up, and confessed his solitude and confinement, the absence of physical contact with other bovines, and my presence, and the feelings I gave him in those moments.
- What are you trying to say? You know I can't let you hang out with the cows. You'd trample the calves! You'd chase the mothers and be a nuisance.
- Is my nature a nuisance? - he turned to stare at me with his huge, black eyes. I didn't know what to say. I caressed his mighty head:
- This world is too orderly and structured to let you run around, not just in china shops. 
- This world is unfair. And you should stop milking me. I'm not a cow you know? Also, I have feelings. - And he ran to the opposite side of the enclosure.
And that's how I understood my bull had a crush on me.
I was embarrassed the next time I got to the barn. He was munching on some hay in a dark corner. He didn't turn around. I decided we needed to introduce a proper distance in our professional relationship, so I just ignored him. To his timid "Hello?" I didn't answer. After all, my grandpa and my dad after him wouldn't answer a mooing bovine, would they? 
He insisted: - John?
I ignored him. He shook his head and huffed. I started singing.
- Why are you not talking to me? - he said, his tone worried and betraying a growing oppositional note. I went around the barn sweeping and hosing. The moos were getting louder.
- You can't ignore me!
But I did, and it was for the best. My wife came in, worried by the noise:
- What's wrong with Herman today? Does he need some relief?
- No clue dear - I answered - And no, I don't think he does. In fact, I've been thinking we should invest in the proper machinery.
- What machinery? - Herman mooed.
- I think it's a good idea! - my wife said. - I must confess, you dealing with it by hand made me uncomfortable.
- Things will change, you'll see. I'll go to the dealership first thing tomorrow.
- Are you breaking up with me? - came the tearful wail.
- We should call the vet - my wife urged in a worried tone - He's in pain! I'll go.
And as she left and I approached the exit too, he charged the fence and broke it down effortlessly. Have you ever seen a raging bull charging? No, me neither. That's why I couldn't move, and... well... he gored me, and ran out through the vast prairie."

"Fuck it can be a powerful statement when it allows itself to be fucked" - mooed Herman to Clara, the heifer he had found roaming in the field and quickly convinced to have a go at the real thing.
- Oh my, this is so much better than that syringe! Oh Herman, I didn't know!
- Neither did I - he grunted while pumping. - And thinking I was having feelings for that naked ape!
Soon enough, their enjoyment was over. Dusk was approaching, and their ancestral instinct kicked in and guided them back towards the farm. Clara was allowed to approach, and she quietly paced towards her stall. Herman was shot on the spot. His balls were fried and eaten by the family and neighbors, his tail cooked with tomato, onions and chocolate. And when Clara's calf was born, in due time, he had his father's huge, black eyes. Like all the other calves in the farm, really, but that didn't stop him from feeling special.
When John's daughter toddled in the barn, he told her:
- Hi, little girl!
And she answered, unsurprised:
- Hi little boy! Wanna go for a shower?