Westray cattle are a breed apart. I’m used to seeing docile unthinking beasts in Devon. Barely alive, seemingly semi-conscious, the Devon grass grazers are unaware of anything save a single ancestral flick of the eyes to register whether danger approaches. Westray beef steers, however, have a different life. Curious beyond normal measure, they race to meet anyone, desperate for the novelty of something interesting on their horizons. They run in true herds as we cycle past them, seeming like stampedes of Wildebeest and they come to nuzzle us at the walls surrounding our house.
This beautiful fellow was our favourite.
Time now for evening meal of Orkney beef, slow cooked in Dark Island. At least I know it’s had a good life.