Breasts, hips and calves; they size us up like prize-stock, checking our gait to see if we are strong enough for breeding. Like bloodthirsty hunters in a permanent state of semi-arousal, they plot on how to move in for the kill. The aim is to tame, dominate and possess, until we are fat with their offspring, and have no choice but to settle in for the night.
The master feels satisfied when he gazes upon the new brood surrounding the mother, who is so fatigued that she barely stands upright. So the babies learn to help themselves, and take their fill, gorging on tender nipples. Defiantly bearing the pain and discomfort, she is also grateful for this natural resource of rich goodness, coming from the same body. She will continue to be that supply for as long as they need it.
This is what they will learn to call home, on the glorified farm.