Four herders, one grazing ground
We kept scribbling the same notes to each other after every morning round with the herd — who calved, which bull was limping, where the grass had worn thin — and eventually stopped pretending that stack of notes wasn't a journal. We typed it up, added a few photos from the gate, and mailed the first issue to eleven neighbors who ran cattle of their own. Mooing in the background, mud on every page, it was never meant to be more than that.
Grazed first, written second
Every entry starts out in the meadow, boots in the mud, among muscular animals that don't care what you think you know. Nothing goes on the page until someone has walked it twice and watched the herd move through it themselves. A claim that can't survive a second walk through the pasture doesn't stay in the final copy.