Let's get deep for a moment.
Out of stardust, life sprang, and our planet developed into dynamic, beautiful, interconnected ecologies. From stardust arose consciousness, emotion, the things that make life precious. That blows my mind, and is the underlying framework for why I love animals so.
I spent last weekend touring some of the farm country of Carolina, meeting the farmers who articulated more like scientists, but most notably, meeting the healthy, lovable animals that I had been eating. I met them face to face, and I wallowed in how cute the pigs were piled together comfortably in the dirt, and I saw beauty in the subtle colorations of turkey feathers, and I melted when I pet the soft coat of the baby goats, and I lingered near the chicken coop to hear the young chicks chirp out their song.
In those warm moments, never before had I been so sure that killing and eating animals was the right, just, and responsible thing to do. Because none of those animals would be there if I didn't.
At one farm, they were barbecuing lamb sausage near the pen where the live sheep were held. The irony was deafening, and even uncomfortable, to look out at the cuddly creatures while enjoying a lamb sausage. A child among us was quite vocal about her discomfort, and a couple in our party chose not to partake in the "World's Best Lamb." Understandably so.
We are not immune to sentiment. Killing is a brutal thing no matter the method. But feelings betray us.
We live on a planet where lifeforms must kill and consume other lifeforms in order to survive. This is the dark, beautiful, universal truth of the world. Whether grains from an unsustainable factory farm or animals from a real farm, we must kill and consume other lifeforms.
On the real farm, those animals were born to be eaten. To not eat them is to abort them, and to eat them is to give them the gift of life. It's a mutually beneficial ecological relationship.
I watched those pigs relish rolling in the dirt. They would stick their snout in the feeder and make that cough-sneeze sound and then waddle to the shade and collapse there. I saw the dogs run playfully through the rows of vegetables, yapping at the other animals. The ducklings circled each other in a dark puddle, keeping their brothers and sisters near. Their mother had black speckles evenly spaced throughout her rich brown feathers. The father wore a white necklace and a turquoise sheen glowed from under his black chest. They were family.
Tragic to think they would have never been born at all.
