For the first few weeks, the transformation had been almost everything that Jeff wanted.
She spent her days outside, grazing. This was no factory farm, she was somewhere warm where she was grass fed and left to roam a large pasture with a few dozen other cows. She explored her limited area, looking at life through the dull eyes of a protected farm animal. She was milked, by hand, daily. The highlight of her day. At night, she would join the other cows in the barn.
Then it would repeat. Over and over again.
By the end of the first month, Jeff was going out of her mind. Even the little pleasure that she got being milked had become a chore. She spent hours in the pasture, thinking. She thought about trying to communicate with the farmhands, but found that she couldn't remember how to draw in the dirt. She was cut off from her former humanity completely.
Worse, she had no way to end this horror. It wouldn't be so bad if she could remember what, if any, time limit she'd put on this new life of hers. It was more than a month, she was sure of it. But how much more? A few months? A year? Years?
What happened if she stopped giving milk before she was turned back?
After a time, it no longer bothered her that she was likely to end up as pounds of meat and a few leather handbags. She just stood quietly in the pasture and chewed.