The city imagines the field. In the field there is a cow. It stands, grazing, waiting to be milked, happy. Next to the cow there is a gaucho. He knows all his cows. He chooses them a name, baptizes them: Joy, Affectionate, Cherry, Spark, Star, Gypsy, Swallow, Linda, Mansa. In the early morning, he locks them in the corral and milks them. If they are ill he takes care of them. f there is a flood he drives them to a high field. And when they’re taken to the slaughterhouse, he says goodbye with his handkerchief.
The cow does not exist, the gaucho calls it the animal. Nor does the gaucho exist. He is a rural worker, a land worker. Both, -cow and gaucho-, are inventions of the city. The cow from the field gives everything: leather, milk, meat and school essays.The gaucho is the operator of that factory of sunsets, dew and full moon. When he goes to town, he does the same thing as in the country: he ropes a cow to the race. His bow, like every gaucho bow, is made of cow leather, animal leather.