The following story is a satire written from the point of view of a teacher and mother.  

"The Farmer and the Case of the Unhappy Cows"

Once upon a time there was a happy farmer who lived in a rural town not too far from the Village which was known as many names by those outside of the village.  He did not have a large herd of cattle and yet the cattle he had were satisfied.  He fed them and milked them on a strict routine, gave them plenty of air and sunshine during the warmer months, and was glad to clean their stalls, muck their shit, and work the old hard work without the aid of fancy machinery. He understood this way was the old way and although it did not ease the burden of his work, he felt inclined to honor the traditions of his fathers.

His cattle became a part of his family.  Of course they had names and even nicknames and he referred to them lovingly when he called them in from the fields.  He patted their noses and rubbed their flanks.  He sometimes told them stories as he milked, sitting on an old stool. This was his way and he cherished it, despite the days the cold broke through his knuckles, causing them to bleed, and the ax became so heavy he felt his arm like the weight of an anchor.  He cultivated his fields, sweating through his long sleeved  flannels even during the fall, hefting the hay into the loft one pitchfork at a time.  He woke at first light and he nurtured the relationship he had with this dairy farm, one that had been a part of his history.

While the farming community to which he belonged declined, those who remained respected him and he had established a name which was associated with perseverance and determination.

Now it came to be the farmer's crops suffered a terrible blight.  It was not the fault of the farmer.  It was simply an act of nature.  The farmer had never remembered a time such as this and felt quite lost. After conferring with some of his fellow farmers, he felt the only choice he has was to travel into the Village and purchase the food from a well known distributary of farming supplies. His hired hands knew well his routine so he left them and his beloved cattle to make the day's trip to the Village by horse.  

Once at the distributary, which also was known by many names, the foreman was delighted to see him, as he had attempted to recruit him as a customer many times.  The man showed the farmer a variety of feed, many of which he said was "fortified" with this or that. Ingredients the farmer cared not to remember as he had no inclination to be a continuing customer.  The man was quite pleased with himself and put on fancy words for the farmer and droned on about the abundance of milk his cattle would produce with this "fine food" that had been made in the Great City and delivered here to the Village. "You will work less and the cows... why they will be overjoyed at this enriched product." The transaction completed,  the foreman promised a delivery that day of the finest feed his cattle could ever want.  

Weeks went by with the farmer in his same routine, only disrupted by the "fine feed".  And by the end of the month, the farmer noticed some of the cows seemed.. almost fatigued. Not coming right away when he called them.  Others were restless, prancing the way a horse would.  And some unfazed, acting almost normal.  Yet the ones who were acting normally produced perhaps only the merest of additional supply and instead the cattle who now loafed produced less.  Another month went by and more of the cattle began to act strangely.  Consulting his fellow farmers yet again, it was decided he should travel into the city to see The Doctor and his Wife.

He dismounted his horse a day later at the finest home he had seen in all the Village.  The ornamentation of the home and the ostentatious nature of the grounds created a sense of weariness in the famer, and yet he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, so this was his choice.  He needed to get to the root of what was causing his cows so much distress.  Especially Mary, who often now lay down while being called in and began to moo without end.

The man was greeted by a servant who opened the door wide into a great hall gilded with gold.  This doctor had been learned in the Great City and so the farmer felt his ways to be ignorant.  He waited on a settee while the servant offered him tea poured in a cup so tiny, he could put no finger through the handle.  

"Doctor will see you now," and the farmer was swept through the hall into an office of mahogany, thick drapery, statues of bucking broncos adorning pedestals.  The desk consumed the room and opposite was great shelves of books.  The farmer felt his understanding of the world shaken and he cowered a bit in this presence.  The doctor turned in his seat, a man stuffed like a cabbage roll into his button down shirt.  He had spectacles perched delicately on his hawked nose and yet it was the pouches of his cheeks, sloping downward, that truly consumed his face.

"My man, I understand your cattle are depressed?" he bellowed.

the farmer shook his head in affirmation.  At that moment the Doctor's wife, his consultant in everything, swept in with her manicured nails, flowing and tumbling tresses.  Her large breasts burst from her heavy velvet garb and the farmer looked away. 

"Oh my fine farmer," she spoke in a voice eloquent, honeyed, her features of her face delicate, yet he could see the weight of her indulgences also like a heaviness in her cheeks and jaw.   She smiled and her teeth were misshapen, crowded in and out like a child who has slashed a smile into a jack-o-lantern.

She continued and the doctor nodded as she spoke. "We have been trained in th most recent medicines for your cattle.  I myself have the title of Chief of Medicines and my knowledge spans the Great City to the next even Greater City.  We can provide you with a pill which they should take daily, preferably twice a day for maximum effect.  You should also need to entertain your cattle.  Dance for them. Put on a show.  Shower them with gifts.  Do not let the slightest unhappiness weigh on them.  DO not expect them to come to you.  No, no.  these cattle need you to go to them.  If you must, hire troubadours or even a clown.  We must make them comfortable... Now, are you providing them with the grain from the distributary?" She glanced at the doctor who nodded at her, smiling in a way reflecting an almost bizarre relationship in which the wife was clearly dominant.  

The farmer nodded, feeling so uncomfortable that he would accept whatever they recommended, just so he could leave this place.

Then we shall provide you with the necessary medicines and you shall see a great turnabout in your possessions. As she completed her sentence, a small head poked through the door. Her face went red. "Child.  Have you had your medicine today?" The boy nodded. "Then go. Go! Have I not told you before? The company comes soon, so be dressed in your finery!" the child disappeared like the farmer wished he could. She turned and again smiled that wicked smile at him.

He left with the pills, feeling some way he had never felt before.  It was a shadow of a feeling just hesitating in the back of his mind.  he did not know the name for it and yet it made him feel slightly sick, anxious even.  

A month went by with the farmer giving his cattle the two pills a day.  He hired troubadours.  He himself sang for them.  he danced himself.  he let them loaf.  He attempted to milk them as they lay reclined.  He whispered kind words as he always had and yet, nothing seemed better.  He could not understand.  In fact, most of the cows now were fatigued and restless and a few were insubordinate.  What was he to do.  

He consulted his peers one last time, praying for a miracle.  They recommended he see the Chief of the Farming Department in the Great City, a 3 day trip.  Feeling he had no other options, the farmer left for the Great City.  The trip was long and tiring and he had little food now that he was spending a significant amount on pills and grain.

The Chief of the Farming Department was quite busy, and so he was given a pile of papers to complete about his farm, what he fed them, how much they slept, etc. etc. and then scheduled to see an assistant who smiled cheerfully, whistling as he walked the farmer back through a row of tiny rooms, all with darkened windows. The further they walked, the warmer it got until he felt that perhaps this man's office was right next to a great stove bursting with flames.

The assistant studied his application and narrowed his eyes at him.  "So you say that you have restless and fatigued cows?" 

The farmer nodded.

"And you say they are still producing milk, but much less?"

Again the farmer nodded.

"Then my recommendation is you are not milking them enough.  Milk them on the hour every hour. Even through the night."

"Sir?" the farmer said.

The man cleared his throat ignoring the former's objection.

"And you say you have one cow who is being particularly insubordinate and not producing milk?"

Again, the farmer nodded.

"Then you are not giving him enough attention.  You must refocus all your efforts on that one cow.  The others are clearly capable, albeit restless and lazy, but this cow, you must forget the others.  I recommend we complete this paperwork on that cow.  We will double down our efforts, together, to bring some semblance of normalcy to his life yet!"

The assistant was so full of zeal the farmer could do nothing but allow a half formed smile while simultaneously wondering if this man had ever stepped a foot on a farm.

It was 3 days drive back to the farm where, once he arrived, most of the cows were gone.  He began to search for them, frantic, calling them in the same way his father had called them and his father had before him.  He wandered out into the fields, through the trees until he became lost in his search.  He sat against the rock, put his head between his knees and wept.  The darkness came quickly and it began to rain. His tears and the rain were one.  He did not move. It was not that he didn't want to.  He wanted to fervently.  He wanted the old way back.  The structure, the routine, the glowing fields.  He wanted to muck the shit while he whistled and felt the cold sweat of his work trickling down his back and he wanted to speak again to his companions with the reverence he had once felt.

 But he could not.  And so he did not move from the rock nor did he speak.  Where was there to go?  Who was left to listen?  He kept his eyes closed a long time. So long, in fact, he could not be woke.