A whole lot of people seem to think that it’s somehow cruel to both know and eat a particular animal. Or if not cruel, they at least insist that they simply couldn’t. It’s interesting that these people are caring and compassionate; they would want their meat to be ethically raised. But they don’t want to see it, and they don’t want to know it. Sure, they’ll pet a chicken. Sure, they’ll eat a chicken. But the same chicken? Nope.
And so I start to realize that the life I live in is kind of abnormal. I’m used to the feeling of blood on my hands, and that doesn’t make me squeamish.
Ok, let’s be clear here: I don’t like killing animals. When I butcher a chicken, I get emotional. When I butcher a chicken with an especially likable personality, I feel sick and maybe cry. (Yes, chickens have personalities. Don’t ask.) And when I have to cull a chicken that shouldn’t die, like when it has a hurt leg or when it’s sick, I just hate it. Chicks are especially hard.
Why? The darn chicken is dying no-how. It’s in pain! And its fate isn’t changing much anyhow, it’s just dying a little earlier and being eaten by worms rather than dying a little later and being eaten by us. After all, the difference between not existing at all and existing a little bit is a lot bigger than the difference between existing a little bit and existing long. At least, that’s how I look at it.
(Can something “exist a little bit”? Or does it just exist? It probably depends on how time works – but I’m way out of my depth.)
And then there’s that look. The one that guests shoot at you right when you mention we raised the beef that’s on the table. It would have been fine if we had bought it from the supermarket and it would have been fine if it had been from another small farm. But this – oh, no – this is a little too farm-to-table.
But I’ve realized that death is big part of life. I’m killing the radishes when I crunch them down, too. When I eat a cucumber, I’m destroying all of the little potential plants in every juicy seed. And so if cucumbers had soft, brown eyes and fuzzy ears, would it be just as “un-ethical” to eat them?
Ok, so that’s about it on the reflections. I have no idea how to sort them out – and I don’t think that’s what I’m here to do.
But how does this all work out on the farm… practically and not metaphysically/culturally? How do we reconcile and honor this death?
1. We choose breeds carefully. This includes making sure our herd genetics are healthy, that the pastured egg hens are of a breed to enjoy foraging, and that the broilers aren’t going to grow so fast that they can’t walk easily. (Some breeds can’t!)
2. We make sure our animals are raised in the environment they enjoy. Our animals are happy animals. This is part of ethical meat-eating.
3. We try our best to keep stress out of our animals’ lives. This means using quiet patience when herding cows, singing when milking Georgia, and providing plenty of treats when working with pigs.
4. We source our feed carefully, because what we put into the animals counts just like what we put into our own bodies. Right now, we use non-GMO, local grain from a small distributor.
5. We let the animals behave naturally – the chickens have room to scratch in the grass, the cows birth right where they want to, and the calves stay with their mamas for a good long time. (Sometimes, we just let them wean themselves!)
6. We butcher humanely and thankfully. When we take a steer in the the butcher or when I’m catching a chicken for dinner, I’ll pray, thanking God for providing this animal for our food. And I thank the animal, too.
7. Lastly, we pray before meals. Thankfulness takes on a new meaning when it is mixed with the sorrow and joy of butchering.
You wrote: ‘After all, the difference between not existing at all and existing a little bit is a lot bigger than the difference between existing a little bit and existing long. At least, that’s how I look at it.
(Can something “exist a little bit”? Or does it just exist? It probably depends on how time works – but I’m way out of my depth.)’
I believe you are right about the importance of existing at all.
Time is a creature. When God makes the universe, He makes it in all its temporality. He is the author of time and He is equally “at” the beginning and the end and everywhere in the middle. (Remember that bit about being the alpha and the omega?) My point is that our “existence” is eternally with God. Tomorrow we’ll be gone to those we love but not to Him. His creation never stops–He does all He does eternally.
I take it on faith that He has something good in store for us. I don’t know about his aims for the chickens. If we are what we eat, maybe they will be able to magnify Him in some capacity in our life. If not that, it will be something better.
Interesting points! Thank you. I was wondering if I was going off on a tangent, but I’m glad it was somewhat coherent. And I like the idea of the chicken’s glorifying God through our lives, too. Thank you for that thought!