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.org/~Uther_Pendragon/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.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.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?  AYou'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
