So you want to eat some meat tonight? How many of you Americans actually thought about the meat that you eat? That it is the flesh of an animal, an animal that was once moving and making noise?
Some of you have, I am sure. I am not so blind or borish as to think that all Americans believe milk comes in cartons and meat is made in little plastic packages. Some of you who have thought about such things have decided the appropriate course of actions is to become vegetarians. One defense I have heard from vegetarians is this: Being a vegetarian does not stop an animal from being slaughtered for food, but not being part of the destination somehow mystically absolves a vegetarian of the guilt of the animals who are still eaten. I am not sure if I can agree with this reason, but that has to do with my beliefs on the Fall, a theologial question which is not my present topic.
Please understand that I have nothing against vegetarians; I just really love my meat. I say this having not only thought about the slaughter of the animals I eat, but also having seen said slaughter. How could you be so callused? you ask.
Once again, it all began as a child. My neighbor owned a steer. Barbeque was kept in the back yard behind our back yard. My brother and I would pull mulberry leaves off of the tree to feed him. Poor thing had eaten all of the ones he could reach. He depended on us for his favorite snack. Having a full grown steer eat from your hand and then pick his nose repeatedly with his tongue is not something you forget. Neither is the shot from the butcher when he is finally slaughtered or your neighbor making a windchime out of the partially cured horn.
My brother and I had begged my mother to let us watch the butchering, but she had said no. I think she was afraid that we would be traumatized. If that was the goal, then maybe we should not have seen the calving at the fair the year before when the man had to wrap a sizeable chain around the little calf’s front hooves and yank the poor thing out. After seeing that, my mind associated brutality more with birth than with death. We did not get any of Barbeque to help him live up his name, but I would not have had a problem if we had. Perhaps it is because I just have the ability to compartmentalize rather well. I have learned over time that this is not always the best response, but for our friend the steer and his fellow slaughtered it does seem appropriate.
Why must you talk about this? My children are reading this!
Only to let you know what it is like in other parts of the world, dear friends. But since there may be little eyes, I will warn you…the next part is a bit more gory.
The restaurant downstairs slaughtered a sheep yesterday. We walked by just after the neck slicing. The Old Testament was suddenly more real as I watched the butcher pull the head to the side so that the blood flowed freely into the pan below. Up to this point, I had only seen chicken blood. Oh, I had gone to the grocery store here and had seen the slabs of meat and some blood. This was something different. Unlike Barbeque who received a shot before being cut up, this sheep’s cause of death was having his lifeblood drained from him. Blood the color of my own flowed and flowed and still flowed before finally our walking took us past and we could no longer see the flowing.
We had an errand so we did not stay. When we came back from our errand, the butcher had moved onto skinning. Again I did not get to stay to watch as there were other matters more important than gathering stories with which to gross out my roommate. Besides, the restaurant has bought another sheep, so I will have another opportunity later.
My point in musing over all this gruesome event is the commonplace-ness such an act has here that is not present in America. To be sure, blood is shed daily in both places. But how many of you have seen it on the sidewalk? Here, many hands are sticky with it. Here, the streets behind many back doors are stained with it. I will leave you to think on that one. As for me? I will still eat meat, but now as I do I will have an attitude of thankfulness that the final blood has been spilt.
