I’m NOT a Vegetarian…yet
I’m not a Vegetarian. I am, however, rather Egalitarian and quite often Non-Sectarian. But definitely NOT a Vegetarian. Not yet.
I love to eat. I enjoy enjoying good food. I love to smack my lips and roll my eyes with pleasure while slowly savoring a heavenly homemade chocolate chip cookie. I will literally wag my tail with delight while chomping down on a juicy steak. And I have a huge repertoire of happy noises I make with my politely closed mouth while it is stuffed full of sweet or savory sublimity.
Jesus said, “Feed my sheep,” many times and in many ways. I think he meant it.
I like to feed my family. I (mostly) enjoy cooking healthy, flavorful meals that make my men roll their eyes with pleasure and their tails wag with delight. I plan their meals with care, shop wisely, and work to keep waste to a minimum and good health to a maximum.
This past week my dogs have been hunting and gathering too, doing their best to help provide sustenance for our family. They are so proud of themselves. “Look, Ma, I caught a bird! Throw it in a skillet, mmmmm good!”
Ugh. Thanks, but no thanks, guys. Really.
This week I have had to handle four five six of these poor, dead birds. These Chukar are the pitiful, pen-raised fowl left behind by the Dog People over the past two weekends of dog-training, dog-testing fun and frolic.
These birds have no experience with dogs, coyotes, owls, hawks or eagles. They have experience with buildings and cages and welcoming tin pans of food and water. As I run them off my front porch and out of my yard their startled look seems to say, “Why are you yelling at me? What’s THAT about? Aren’t you supposed to be bringing me dinner?”
It is senseless cruelty. The birds don’t belong here, their non-native confusion shames and haunts me. I shoo the birds and curse their stupidity. I curse the Dog People. And when one of my precious, self-appointed hunting dogs carries one of these hapless creatures to me – sometimes dead, sometimes alive, sometimes somewhere in between – I praise them and I accept their gift of love. And then I cry.
“Young people say, What is the sense of our small effort? They cannot see that they must lay one brick at a time; we can be responsible only for the one action at the present moment. But we can beg for an increase of love in our hearts that will vitalize and transform all our individual actions, and know that God will take them and multiply them, as Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes.” -Dorothy Day
Yeah, now I’m back to Jesus again. What would Jesus do? I don’t know, if I had those kinds of answers, I surely wouldn’t be writing on a blog right now. But here’s what I think I do know:
- God made chickens and turkeys, and even quail and pheasant quite tasty and nourishing. I like to eat them, yum, yum.
- Children are starving (there, I said it) somewhere out there, probably somewhere quite near, and I have what were perfectly edible game birds rotting in a over-sized garbage bin in my backyard, put there by bored men with a need for a hobby to kill time and feed their natural born need to waste disposable income. They slaughter, maim and/or abandon these birds in an effort to prove to their friends that they have a dog worthy to kill other birds that they will probably not toss into a dumpster, but will allow to rot in their freezer alongside the carefully wrapped bodies of the deer and elk carcasses their wives refuse to cook.
Wow. Rant over. I apologize for the length of it. Back to quilt making joys, eh?