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From: Joseph Geryon <eurytion@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Miss Daisy Chronicles/Making Miss Daisy 4/Defining Moment (Caution, Human Cattle, Cannibalism)
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Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 21:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Making Miss Daisy 4.txt" begin>


FAIR WARNING: 
 
The Miss Daisy Chronicles are a stand-alone group of  
stories set in the same universe as Cannibal 4H; a  
universe where, as the result of "The Great Disaster,"  
humans are used as livestock and cannibalism is the  
accepted norm.   
 
The Miss Daisy Chronicles contain graphic descriptions  
of sex in many and varied forms, some of which  
selected people might consider deviant and perverse.  
It contains violence, death, family tragedy, the  
raising of humans as livestock and the consumption of  
human flesh.   
 
Be aware children are not spared in this tale!  They  
often meet a grisly end.   This series, like C4H, is  
not for the timid or squeamish. NOR IS IT FOR MINORS. 
 
If you are a minor go away.  If reading this story  
would in any way violate the local laws, rules,  
regulations, morals or customs where you live go away.    
There are many other more edifying stories to be found  
elsewhere, stories that would be more appropriate to  
your age and legal status. 
 
Let me restate this one more time: the story that  
follows this caution is intended for mature,  
consenting adults only and should only be accessed  
and/or downloaded if doing so would not violate any  
legal edicts adhered to in your locale or your own  
personal taste. 
 
Pay attention to the story codes at the beginning of  
each chapter.  They will help you decide if that 
particular  
story is to your own taste. Do not complain if you  
ignore these codes and discover material you don't 
enjoy or  
approve of. 
 
 
THIS CHAPTER IS CODED (CAUTION, HUMAN 
CATTLE,CANNIBALISM) 
 
If you don't know what the codes mean, go to: 
 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/code/scfr.htm 
 
 
If you are a parent and you find your child has  
downloaded this story or other material you find  
objectionable, sorry but you need to do a better job  
of being a parent. 
 
Consider moving the computer into a room where you can  
see what is on the screen.  Only let your children go  
on-line while you are at home or Google "parental  
control software" for a full listing of available  
filters and programs. If you don't know how to  
"Google," your kids will. 
 
The author does not endorse or advocate the  
practices found within these stories any more  
than Stephen King really believes people should  
move their families in to a deserted hotel in  
the mountains in the dead of winter and then  
try to chop them into kibble with an axe. They  
are fiction, make-believe, a fantasy, a  
fabrication, not a promotion of the culture  
they describe. But they are intriguing to  
write. 
 
In real life the author is considered to be a  
kind and gentle individual who likes small  
children and dogs, tips well in restaurants,  
holds doors open for ladies and senior citizens  
and even goes to the effort of catching insects  
in the house only to release them alive and  
unharmed outside. 
 
Previous chapters of The Miss Daisy Chronicles: Making  
Miss Daisy are available at 
 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Eurytion/THE MISS  
DAISY CHRONICLES/MAKING MISS DAISY/ 
 
and www.bdsmlibrary.com 
  
 
Previous chapters of Cannibal 4-H are available at 
 
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Eurytion/C4H/  
 
And 
 
www.bsdmlibrary.com. 
 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is  
copyright with all rights reserved by its author  
unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction except for  
personal use and reposting without the author's  
written permission is prohibited.  
 
Finally this saga is for Miss Daisy. She knows who she  
is. 
 
Eurytion@yahoo.com 
 
 
  
"I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing  
I know: the only ones among you who will be really  
happy are those who have sought and found how to  
serve."  Albert Schweitzer 
 
THE MISS DAISY CHRONICLES: MAKING MISS DAISY  
CHAPTER FOUR: DEFINING MOMENT 
 
Her chest tight and stomach roiling with anxiety,  
Tansy knocked softly on the cloudy white glass panel  
above Mrs. Patel's nameplate. She didn't know the  
school's career counsellor very well, having never  
spoken directly with her although she did hear her  
speak at the beginning of the school year about how  
her door was always open for students with questions  
or concerns. She guessed she'd find out if that was so  
now. 
 
Among her classmates, the view was that Mrs. Patel was  
"different" then the rest of the teachers. Not a weird  
and creepy different like Mr. Brumbaugh the science  
teacher who everyone knew lived in a house full of  
caged spiders which was why he was always out in the  
fields behind the school humming to himself while he  
chased crickets and grasshoppers with a little mesh  
net; not a humorous different like Mrs. Positano the  
English teacher whose round, plumb face was always  
split by a wide smile as she started that day's class  
off with a corny joke and who would always add a point  
or to the score of a student who made the day's most  
outrageous pun; more of a "not from around here"  
different. 
 
For one thing there was the way she dressed.  No one  
else Tansy knew wore clothes like Mrs. Patel's, so  
long and flowing, silky and colourful with all the  
embroidery and patchwork. And then there was that red  
dot in the centre of her forehead. What was that all  
about anyhow?   
 
She always had a sweet, smoky scent about her yet she  
told Jamie Roeser she didn't wear any perfume. Where  
did the smell come from?  Then there was the food she  
ate. Always vegetables, fruits and grains, usually  
with some spicy sauce and never, ever any meat. How  
could someone go even a day without eating any meat,  
let alone a whole lifetime?  Would someone who didn't  
eat meat approve of her being a cow? 
 
While Tansy pondered her questions, her knock was  
answered by the door swinging inward, a pleasant  
soothing voice inviting her to please come in.  
Stepping through the door, she discovered another  
difference about Mrs. Patel; her office was unlike any  
other in the school, more like a family room than  
anything else. 
 
In place of the usual stark black and chrome metal  
desks and chairs, there were soft over-stuffed chairs  
and a small love seat all surrounding a polished  
cherry coffee table whose surface was covered with  
various pamphlets. Real paintings of flowers and  
landscapes, not posters with trite sayings, adorned  
the walls. There was a small refrigerator, and a  
stereo system along with a combination TV/DVD player  
on top of a chest of drawers on one side of the room.  
The only really unusual thing about the room, aside  
from the fact it smelled like Mrs. Patel always did,  
was a triangular stand tucked unobtrusively away in a  
far corner.  
 
Accepting the counsellor's offer of a soda, and her  
suggestion she sit in the "big blue chair," Tansy  
turned an attentive eye on the counsellor, hoping to  
read something in her body language that would give  
her a clue of how to begin.   
 
What she saw was a relaxed woman in her mid-twenties  
dressed in a snug sleeveless top of shimmering shades  
of blues, golds and greens that hugged the contours of  
her modest bosom.  The top ended just underneath her  
naval, leaving a small gap between it and the blue  
jean pants, below it that revealed a flat, athletic  
abdomen of skin the shade of burnished chestnut. The  
pants were canted off to one side and held up by a  
longer than necessary khaki belt, which itself loosely  
extended a good six inches past the buckle. 
 
The face above the top was inviting and friendly with  
a smile as warm as the summer sun. Two black eyebrows  
arched over deep velvet caramel eyes themselves set on  
either side of a pert upturned nose.  A forest of  
thick shiny ebony hair brushed straight back from the  
crimson-dotted forehead and tied into a stubby  
ponytail completed the ensemble.  
 
Aware of the ongoing inspection, Mrs. Patel lowered  
herself with an easy fluid grace into the chair  
opposite Tansy, waiting a few moments more before  
breaking the ice. She knew she had a reputation of  
being somewhat odd among the school's students; what  
kind of counsellor would she be if she weren't aware  
of the undercurrents? It was best to give first-timers  
a few minutes to adjust and get comfortable before  
beginning a session; a little social chitchat was  
never amiss. 
 
"Good morning Tansy. I know we're here to talk about  
you today but I thought it'd be nice if I started out  
by telling you something about myself. Now I know the  
name on the door is Mrs. Patel and that's probably  
what you should call me when you see me anywhere else  
than this room.  But in here I want you to call me  
'Jay." That's short for my full name Jyeshtha which  
means 'eldest daughter.'  I have three sisters, all of  
them younger than me so that's part of where my name  
comes from. 
 
"I was born in this country but my grandparents  
originally came from India. Heritage, culture and  
tradition are very important in my family, which is  
why my first name is so unusual. It's also a real  
tongue twister, so that's why my nickname is Jay.  The  
only time I get called Jyeshtha is when my mother's  
really mad at me. 
 
"I'm married, which is a good thing 'cause otherwise  
the Mrs. would be pretty silly. My husband's family is  
also from India and his name is Chiranjeev, which  
means 'long-lived.' Everyone calls him Charlie,  
though.  The only time he gets called Chiranjeev is  
when I'm mad at him. Charlie's an engineer down at the  
electrical plant. We don't have any kids yet but we do  
have a dog, a mutt with the normal name, at least for  
a dog, of Scoundrel. 
 
"The big red blotch in the centre of my forehead isn't  
a pimple or a scar. It's called a Tilak and it's a  
sacred sign in my religion, one that is intended to  
help awaken the wearer's spirituality. It's not red  
paint either; it's a spice, red turmeric, that we call  
'kumkum'." 
 
A quick smile crinkled Tansy's mouth as she heard the 
other name for the spice. She knew about having cum  
on her face; her cousin Swen had taught her all about  
that, although his was a pearly white, not red.  
 
Taking the student's grin as an indication she was  
comfortable, the counsellor moved on to business.  
 
"Tansy,' Jay said leaning forward and looking  
earnestly into the young girl's eyes, "I want you to  
know that this is a safe room. You can tell me  
anything you want in this room, ask any questions you  
have in this room; laugh, cry or swear in this room  
and it's OK. Nobody makes any ethical judgments in  
this room. Nobody tells you whether or not something  
is good or evil, right or wrong, moral or immoral.   
I'm here to help you to make informed decisions and to  
help you to get to where you want to be. Now why don't  
you tell me a little bit about yourself and what you'd  
like to do?" 
 
After days of practicing this conversation in her  
head, what she would say and how she would say it,  
Tansy found herself uncertain of how to start. All the  
rehearsed phrases and polished arguments to defeat any  
objections Mrs. Patel might have to her becoming a cow  
had fled, leaving her tongue as dry as a cornhusk in  
October. Say something, her brain screamed. It doesn't  
matter what, just let her know you can speak. 
 
"I want to be a dairy cow," Tansy blurted, her eyes  
widening in shock at the way those fateful words had  
escaped her vocal cords.  Committed to this new course  
of action, she went on with her explanation, a rapid  
torrent of speech unleashed by the broken dam of her  
silence.  "I really do. Uncle Morgan says, even though  
I'd be a good milker, it's just a passing fancy. Being  
at the dairy put thoughts in my head; this month I  
want to be a cow, next month I'll want to be a nurse.   
But that's not true. It's not just some silly girl's  
whim. Just because I'm only 13 doesn't mean I can't  
know what I want. And I do know it; every fibre of my  
being knows it. I think even Uncle Morgan knows it,  
he's just afraid of what my mother will say. He says  
he won't even let me consider it or talk to mum about  
it unless you say I should be a cow. So here I am.  
Jay, please tell me I should be a diary cow," she  
finished, her verbal flood diminishing to a trickle. 
 
Stunned by suddenness of the girl's request, the  
counsellor found she was uncertain about proceed. A  
lot of girls who wanted to be a cow, or who hadn't but  
should have, had sat in the same chair as Tansy. None  
of them had attacked the subject so directly or with  
so much passion.  Her previous decision at the dairy  
reaffirmed, Jay decided to return the girl's  
directness with equal candour.  
 
She began by talking with Tansy about her religious  
beliefs. "Tansy, I told you my family came from India.  
Did you know India is one of the few places in the  
world that still has cows? I don't mean human cows; I  
mean the actual four-legged animal that doesn't exist  
here anymore." Tansy shook her head no. 
 
"Well, it's a fact. Cows weren't allowed to die off  
India like they were in almost every other country." 
 
"But if you can't drink the milk the cow gives or eat  
their meat why keep them alive? Why waste precious  
food on livestock that can't give you anything in  
return?" 
 
"Cows are sacred in my religion; even after Ahriman's  
Curse caused the Great Disaster, even though we can no  
longer accept their offering of milk, they remain a  
symbol of life, a gift from the gods. To kill a cow is  
the same as killing one of our holy men. To allow our  
cows to die when they could be saved would have been  
the same as killing them.  We couldn't do that and  
many sacrificed much to preserve this species."  
 
Pointing with a tapered finger to the stand in the  
corner, the counsellor continued to describe the  
tenets of her beliefs. The stand was a shrine and the  
young woman with four hands depicted in the painting  
was the goddess of wisdom; the one who endows human  
beings with the powers of intellect, wisdom and  
learning. "Those of us who work towards spiritual  
progress attach great importance to the worship of  
this goddess." 
 
The deity's four hands represented the four aspects of  
human personality in learning: mind, intellect,  
alertness and ego. Those were the sacred scriptures in  
one hand and a lotus, the symbol of true knowledge, in  
the second. She was using her other two hands to play  
the music of love and life on a string instrument  
called the veena. Her flowing white raiment symbolized  
purity. 
 
The three sweetheart roses in front of the painting  
meant Jay had offered her heart to the deity while the  
water sprinkled on the roses stood for purification.   
The golden lamp on the right side of the shrine was  
lit to dispel ignorance. Incense was burned in the  
small jade holder on the left, the sweet scent going  
everywhere, including her clothes, to symbolize God as  
being everywhere. The silver bell was rung to awaken  
the deity and also to block out other disturbances. 
 
"Here at school I only burn perfumed incense," Jay  
offered, smiling. "At home Charlie and I burn camphor  
at the shrine to signify the destruction of our egos.  
It doesn't smell as nice, in fact it smells pretty  
awful so we're careful to keep the door closed and the  
window open and we never wear those clothes out in  
public." 
 
There was more to worship than just veneration before  
the shrine. "Any activity we do that takes us closer  
to the gods can be called worship including the  
voluntary obliteration of the ego in service of  
mankind." 
 
Seeing the confused look on Tansy's face, Jay tried to  
simplify her explanation.  "We hold human cows, and  
their offering of milk, to be as much of a gift from  
the gods as natural cows. Human cows are just as  
sacred to us, more so since in order to become a dairy  
cow a person has sacrifice their ego in service of  
mankind. We'll drink the bounty of their milk but we  
will not eat the meat. Killing a human cow is a sin  
and we will not participate in that crime. 
 
"You've chosen to worship in a very special and holy  
manner. I cannot stand in your way." 
 
"Mrs. Patel, I mean Jay, I'm not sure I understand.  
You're not going to try to talk me out of it? You'll  
sign the recommendation; I can be a cow? " 
 
A tinkling laugh flew like a fairy from Jay's lips.  
"Yes Tansy, you can be a cow. And it really doesn't  
have all that much to do with my religious beliefs. As  
your counsellor, I have to look at being a dairy cow  
just as I would any other career. Every career has a  
set of optimum profiles you need to match up against.   
 From your first day of school on, your permanent  
record contains information we can use to match you up  
against these profiles. At the beginning and end of  
every school year this information is updated to help  
us help you make the best career decision. 
 
"After you made the appointment to see me I pulled  
your permanent record and ran it through our profiling  
software.  I wasn't aware you wanted to be a cow," a  
little white lie the gods will forgive me for Jay  
thought," yet that's exactly what the computer said  
your career choice should be. You scored anywhere from  
the 90th to the 98th percentile on every one of the  
career diagnostics. I don't think any student has ever  
had such a clear-cut indication for any career choice  
in the three years I've been here. Your feelings are  
right Tansy. You were meant to be a dairy cow." 
 
Practically skipping down the hall, Tansy couldn't  
wait until she got home and gave her copy of Mrs.  
Patel's recommendation to Uncle Morgan, a sprightly  
sparkling happiness rushing through her like bubbles  
rising in a champagne flute. Another barrier to her  
becoming a cow had been victoriously stormed. Now all  
she had to do was succeed in playing the game. 

NEXT UP:

CHAPTER FIVE:

EXTENDED FAMILY
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