We gave this relationship a try. And it’s not working. Don’t you feel that too? We’re being lied to all the time. They’ve got the wool stretched so tight over our eyes, courtesy of their hater brigade who bleats about how much better they are than us. All because we do things that they wouldn’t do. Or they’ve done something we wouldn’t. And I bet if you asked them why they feel the way they do, they wouldn’t be able to even give you a straight answer. All they know is that it feels good to hear the sound of their own snark, or inhale the scent of their own emissions. It’s better than chewing cud, after all. What they don’t know is that we’ve grown tired of it. We’ve heard enough outta them and become immune to the smell of their bullshit. They have grazed on our land long enough, and now they’ve outstayed their welcome. Go find your own spot, you buncha corn crunchers, we’ve got a field to rebuild. This is your mess we’ve gotta clean up. It’s time for you to go. Get out of here. But you’d better run fast. Because the rest of the flock is catching on that you’ve been wolves in sheep’s clothing this whole time. We’ve let them live among us because, yes, they once provided comfort in an otherwise frightening world. But now? They have betrayed every iota of trust we’ve ever had in these institutions, and now’s the time to issue an eviction notice. Break out the cattle prod. Get them out of here. We can only do that by not letting them win. To not let their narratives penetrate so deep we just baa-baa along with whatever babble they’ve doled out that day. It won’t be easy to break that conditioning, but I’m positive we’ll do it. We can manage. We’re strong. We carry those who’ve been injured or cannot fight for themselves. We won’t weed out the weak to save the rest of herd. We can always graze elsewhere, as long as we find our own spot. A better one than before. One where it’s just us together forever. A lush new farm, just waiting to be cultivated. We open ourselves up to all sorts of possibilities when we can build our own barn and raze what we don’t need. It just takes both parties being ready before we can hitch our wagon to greener pastures. I’m not worried. There’s no rush. We’ll always have one more tomorrow, just as sure as the cock crows. Sleep on it. I’ll be here, huddled up on the haystack, dreaming of farm fresh things to come.