In the fantasy novels of Rick Cook, a converted cow barn on the grounds of the Wizard's Keep in the magical World, used as a workspace by a team of Cupertino programmers brought to that World to improve the spell compiler created by Wiz Zumwalt, turning it into WIZ-DOS.

When the programmers arrived, the cow barn was the only place that the castle staff could find to put them (as all the towers were taken). It did have several advantages; it was dry, fairly comfortable, and already divided up into cubicles. The programmers adapted it by setting up long tables in the middle where all the specifications and design documents were laid out, using the whitewashed wall at one end as a whiteboard, and keeping a large urn of blackmoss tea brewing at all times. Having a separate location also made it convenient to use a time-expansion spell to give the programmers more time to work.

After most of the programmers departed, leaving only Wiz, Jerry, and Danny, the castle stablemaster reclaimed their quarters for his cows, and they took up residence in a workroom in the main tower of the Wizard's Keep.

Sources: Rick Cook, The Wizardry Compiled, The Wizardry Cursed, The Wizardry Consulted

"Seven hundred prize males.
Chosen for their exceptional attributes.
A herd unlike any other.
Brought together for the slaughter
For your perusal today."

A bull pen of another species
Testosterone floating through the air
So many hooves thunder without direction
Following the herd without a care

These are said to be the brightest bullocks!
Why are they covered with sweat and gore?
Too many bulls in one location
Driven hard to the knackers door

Why do we flog our prize calves?
Why do the farmers demand more?
Why can't they live a content life?
Why must we drive them all to war?

Segregated into different classes,
Depending on what they scored
Stuffing heads full of varied knowledge
So they are passed by the board

Too many hormones in the classrooms
One-up-manship the order of the day
Hang a classmate by the bag rack
If you don't get caught you'll never pay

Why do we flog our prize calves?
Why do the farmers demand more?
Why can't they live a content life?
Why must we drive them all to war?

Forced to play the rough outdoor games
That are expected of the lads
Battered, bruised, otherwise molested
Sometimes kicked hard on the nads

Then it's off to the changing rooms
So many acres of prized young flesh
Showered, washed and otherwise cleaned up
Teachers watching for a wank fest

Why do we flog our prize calves?
Why do the farmers demand more?
Why can't they live a content life?
Why must we drive them all to war?

Too much teaching for the examinations
No time to learn the subject
We can answer all the questions
There's a real world out there to get

Some students don't grasp the subject
Their grades drop dramatically
They think Life: they couldn't hack it
Gonna drop out eternally

Why do we flog our prize calves?
Why do the farmers demand more?
Why can't they live a content life?
Why must we drive them all to war?

Why do we flog our prize calves?
Why do the farmers demand more?
Why can't they live a content life?
Why must we drive them all to war?

© David McKee; 7th November, 2000