With this edition of the Sunday in the Park story-prompt entries, the charming Genevieve offers up a witty take on a certain time-honoured institution. Cultures may vary across the globe, but there are some things which hold constant. Enjoy.

Sunday in the Park: Voting

A lone cow wandered into the clearing, eyes wide and taking it all in, though not necessarily comprehending much, which was the way of cows. She chewed her cud lackadaisically for a minute, reflecting in a dim-seeming way, then she appeared to reach a conclusion. She turned to the others behind her and said, “Screw it, there is just no getting around that bloody line”

The others stared a little uncomprehendingly for a moment and then with one big sigh, all went “mooooo”, a low desperate sound full of unhappiness and dread. It wafted through the herd like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day.

Everyone has campaign trail fever and cows are not exempt. A hefty fine should you not do your duty and pick a name on polling day, well actually a few more than that since one is never enough. You could even number all 101 should you really be enthusiastic. Cow lowered her head and shook it gently, it was necessary all the campaigning but all the DRAMA was surely not?

She lifted her head and gazed thoughtfully at the herd behind her. Sausage sizzle aside – and who would turn down a perfectly good veggie sausage? – this whole day was anti-climactic. She longed for the easy days where lounging in the field all day beneath the Australian sun, and then going for a lazy walk back to covered accommodations all night only involved decisions around which patch of grass was greener and where the water was.

All the bullshit, and let’s be honest bulls certainly could shift a lot of it, was unnecessary. She turned back and balefully viewed the polling station just ahead. A gauntlet of bulls each standing with his colours showing proudly, at least 20 of them. Never mind those standing for council and to be Honourable Members of Parliament … good grief! honour was sincerely lacking in this lot! Their hooves ready to press others and impress upon them their sincerity! Bah!

It was just a pitch to line those troughs while they could be done with the hard work of others. She shook her head again and somewhere behind her a voice wavered, “Surely we should just get on with it. Our vote matters, but standing here just drags the agony out!”

Another voice added: “We could take a leaf out of those bull’s books and just charge. It may be a little less delicate than if we were in a china shop, but who needs delicacy on voting day?”

A snicker followed that and soon the whole herd was laughing. Some, embarrassingly, even had cud fall out onto the ground. It was always an interesting phenomenon seeing a cow turn red! Cow lifted her head and wondered why it was that those standing in that line, thought that they could make a last-minute impression?

Surely they understood that by the time the cows got around to voting, after dealing with morning routines and getting across that clearing, their minds were made up, they knew the process and just wanted to get to the sausage sizzle?

Maybe they missed just how annoying they were and how aggravating a simple process became. She wondered if it was possible to ban all parties from being anywhere near the polling booth. Only staff members of the overseeing agency could be there. No honourable members, no party affiliations and no bloody paper!

She was procrastinating. With a look in her eye, she started walking forward and felt the weight and heat of the herd behind her. “Let’s do this”, she muttered and gaining confidence moved toward the gauntlet that was Australian polling day.

Note: If you are interested in playing in our story-time sandbox here at Bonnywood, please feel free to do so, as there are no time limits or actually-enforceable regulations. (Once again, the pertinent click.) Jump in, the water’s fine.

Genevieve’s original post can be found here.

Side note to Genevieve: Thanks so much for participating. You’re a peach!