Pride

‘Snowdrops, Snowflake? Not our thing. We’re ‘ard, we are. We don’t have the time or the inclination to stop and smell the roses. We don’t bleat to be taken into the barn with every change in the weather, not us. Come rain, come shine, you want your grass eaten? We’re the girls for the job.’
‘Along the hedgerows, are they? Can’t say I’ve noticed any. Don’t have much time for hedgrows, personally. You seen the size of this field?’
‘Stressful isn’t the word for it, dawn to dusk, with never a break.’
‘It’s the intensity of it, mostly – you know, concentration, focus. You can’t let little things like the weather distract you. Not if your going to get the job done, you can’t – and we’re going to get the job done. That’s what we’re here for.’
‘It’s our pride, I suppose, you know, reliable – that’s us. Show us a field of grass and get out of our way. We’ll handle it. Do the whole job for you. From start to finish. You toddle off and soothe the finer feelings of those sheltered Charolais of yours. We’ll take care of the grass for you, don’t you worry.’
‘More snow, you say? So what – I’ve got me big coat on.’