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| From washingtonpost.com |
Did you know pigs wiggle and wag their tails like dogs when they're happy? This horrifying detail was mentioned in the first of a series of 3 articles in the Washington Post, about a couple in the DC area who is planning to raise, and then slaughter and eat, 3 piglets.
In the article, the woman who is raising the pigs describes getting their living area ready and then picking them out and bringing them home. She describes naming them and worrying about their well-being- clearly, this woman is taking good care of her pigs. The little piglet in the picture above is in fat piglet heaven- until November, when he will be divested of his mortal coil so that it might be turned into a delicious pork chop.
I know where meat comes from. I recognize that it is intensely hypocritical to eat meat, which I do, and yet abhor the thought of killing animals, which I also do. I think the only way I could become a committed vegetarian- long term- was if I had to kill my own meat. Total dealbreaker.
The extent of my unease varies depending on the animal. Years of flushing the deceased down the toilet has hardened me to the fact of piscine mortality. Perhaps excessive exposure to city pigeons- or the memory of my brother getting viciously mauled by a swan- has hardened my heart to the fate of chickens and turkeys.
But cows? That's harder. They're so docile. I know they can get scared because I sometimes freak them out when I ride my bike by their pastures. They have fabulous eyelashes.
And pork is the hardest of all. I've read that pigs are as smart as dogs, and I know my dog is both fully aware of what's going on around her and easily terrified. My heart breaks to think of the fear and panic she would feel in a holding pen at a slaughterhouse.
A List of Things Pippa Is Scared Of (abridged):
There was a story ages ago in The Economist about the over-regulation of agriculture in the E.U. One example they cited was a recent rule that pigs could only be kept in pens so crowded, and had to be given toys (like balls) to play with. Otherwise they would get so bored and anxious that they would chew on each others' tails, causing infections.
The point the author was making was that the sissy Belgians and French were being ridiculous and forcing British farmers to coddle their pigs. But the image of smart creatures killing the tedium by cannibalizing their neighbors has haunted me ever since.
So this WaPo article was a poorly timed reminder of my conflicting sentiments. I am about to embark on the meat eating-est of diets. There is no room in the world for vegetarian Paleo Dieters, but I hate the thought of causing animal suffering, which I am self-aware enough to recognize my eating them must do.
The New York Times ran an essay contest earlier this year asking people for an essay defending the ethics of eating animals. The winner argued that it could be an ethical act only if you took care to eat meat raised and slaughtered ethically- with respect for the environment and the animal itself. He rationalized that we are all mortal, and our life depends on the sacrifice of the lives of others. If you manage that sacrifice responsibly, and are thankful for it, you have fulfilled your ethical obligation. His argument is articulate, and I find it soothing if not entirely satisfying.
So why do I continue to eat meat (besides for the sake of this experiment)? I do believe we evolved eating meat, and I think (in moderation) it can be healthful. I think you can raise animals responsibly, and I am willing to pay extra for meat that comes from animals that have been cared for.
But fundamentally, I'm a sensualist, at least when it comes to food. I eat meat because it's delicious. I love a beautifully ripe tomato, and it has its place, but I would always feel as though I were missing out if I never ate a steak with it. Admitting that sounds lame even to me- I don't have great reason for eating meat, except for that I want to.
As long as I continue to eat one animal at dinner and take another one out for a walk afterwards, I will struggle with this.
Thank goodness Pippa loves me unconditionally.
In the article, the woman who is raising the pigs describes getting their living area ready and then picking them out and bringing them home. She describes naming them and worrying about their well-being- clearly, this woman is taking good care of her pigs. The little piglet in the picture above is in fat piglet heaven- until November, when he will be divested of his mortal coil so that it might be turned into a delicious pork chop.
I know where meat comes from. I recognize that it is intensely hypocritical to eat meat, which I do, and yet abhor the thought of killing animals, which I also do. I think the only way I could become a committed vegetarian- long term- was if I had to kill my own meat. Total dealbreaker.
The extent of my unease varies depending on the animal. Years of flushing the deceased down the toilet has hardened me to the fact of piscine mortality. Perhaps excessive exposure to city pigeons- or the memory of my brother getting viciously mauled by a swan- has hardened my heart to the fate of chickens and turkeys.
And pork is the hardest of all. I've read that pigs are as smart as dogs, and I know my dog is both fully aware of what's going on around her and easily terrified. My heart breaks to think of the fear and panic she would feel in a holding pen at a slaughterhouse.
A List of Things Pippa Is Scared Of (abridged):
- Buses
- Air brakes
- Sirens
- Helicopters
- Skateboarders
- Umbrellas
- Plastic bags
- Paper bags
- Flapping flags
- Fireworks
- Rainstorms
- The vacuum cleaner
- Wind-up toys
There was a story ages ago in The Economist about the over-regulation of agriculture in the E.U. One example they cited was a recent rule that pigs could only be kept in pens so crowded, and had to be given toys (like balls) to play with. Otherwise they would get so bored and anxious that they would chew on each others' tails, causing infections.
The point the author was making was that the sissy Belgians and French were being ridiculous and forcing British farmers to coddle their pigs. But the image of smart creatures killing the tedium by cannibalizing their neighbors has haunted me ever since.
So this WaPo article was a poorly timed reminder of my conflicting sentiments. I am about to embark on the meat eating-est of diets. There is no room in the world for vegetarian Paleo Dieters, but I hate the thought of causing animal suffering, which I am self-aware enough to recognize my eating them must do.
The New York Times ran an essay contest earlier this year asking people for an essay defending the ethics of eating animals. The winner argued that it could be an ethical act only if you took care to eat meat raised and slaughtered ethically- with respect for the environment and the animal itself. He rationalized that we are all mortal, and our life depends on the sacrifice of the lives of others. If you manage that sacrifice responsibly, and are thankful for it, you have fulfilled your ethical obligation. His argument is articulate, and I find it soothing if not entirely satisfying.
So why do I continue to eat meat (besides for the sake of this experiment)? I do believe we evolved eating meat, and I think (in moderation) it can be healthful. I think you can raise animals responsibly, and I am willing to pay extra for meat that comes from animals that have been cared for.
But fundamentally, I'm a sensualist, at least when it comes to food. I eat meat because it's delicious. I love a beautifully ripe tomato, and it has its place, but I would always feel as though I were missing out if I never ate a steak with it. Admitting that sounds lame even to me- I don't have great reason for eating meat, except for that I want to.
As long as I continue to eat one animal at dinner and take another one out for a walk afterwards, I will struggle with this.
Thank goodness Pippa loves me unconditionally.
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