ethical thoughts on butchering

So my friend Deb is back in town after a year in Florida. She and her husband Dennis are rowing coaches, and Deb usually places in the Nationals every year. They lived up here a few years and taught me how to row. She's only staying a week, but it was awesomely cool to see her. I had planned on working on Bacon Bits Bill's house tonight, but Deb called and needed someone to dispose of some dead mice that were visiting her house. Not a problem. I'm turning into a farmer. Taking care of her mice so easily has me thinking that being a farmer (or living in the country with animals) requires a certain hardness that isn't needed for city living. A different kind of hardness, perhaps, would be a better way to look at it. I'm not sure I have the hardness it would take to survive in a city.

When I was a kid and watched my dad butchering rabbits and goats, turkeys, chickens and the occasional pig, I could never figure out how he could do that. What kind of person can take the life of another creature, regardless of whether it is for food or not? It used to bother me. A lot. Enough that I swore I would never be a part of such a cycle of living.

But here I am, considering butchering chickens and turkeys, and today, while cleaning out the disgusting goose and duck pens for the 4th time this week, ducks and geese. On one hand, it feels totally wrong. On the other, totally natural. Since we began to think about having animals at The Goat, the guys and I have been having many conversations on the ethical and moral implications of raising our own meat. If we do choose to eat meat, I think we have a moral obligation to be the ones to take the life of the one that will sustain us. We should be required to look into the eyes of the animal and realize that meat does not magically appear on refridgerated shelves in a grocery store, but instead, is, most probably, raised in small metal cages where they suffocate in their own poop. Every time we take a bite of chicken, or steak, or veal, we need to remember blood was shed, and a life was snuffed out.

The argument that animals are just animals with no feelings or consciousness holds no weight with me or the guys. These are amazing creatures who recognize our voices and come running to the front of the cage when we visit with them. They jump on our shoulders and want under our shirts. If we are too quiet, they cry for us until they hear our voices, or until we come pet them. Contrary to what you might have heard about chickens and turkeys, they love to be petted. And when you hold them and they are happy, they vibrate. Like they are purring. It's beautiful. We love them knowing they might die so we can live. But here is where I think we differ from the life I remember on the farm I grew up on; we are conscious of this process. We will grieve for these animals, and we will honor them for sustaining us.

I cringe as I write this, thinking that if were the reverse, if humans were to be sacrificed for the sustenance of another creature, we wouldn't give a rat's ass if they appreciated us or not--we wouldn't want to die. And so I'm back full circle, thinking that the notion of butchering animals is brutal, and that I won't be able to do it when the time comes. But I like meat, and I feel better physically when I eat it, so if I'm going to continue to eat meat, I need to be willing to do this. I'm betting I eat a whole lot less of it, take smaller bites, and eat more mindfully. Maybe this is the thought that goes on behind the Buddhist notion of eating mindfully. Continually remember where this food comes from. More importantly, maybe this is why most Buddhists are vegetarians.

And I do have a freezer full of protein powder.