This piece was authored by my friend, Major Rogers
There is a dove that has nested in our empty hanging bird feeder. She sits in her nest, day and night, and though she must, I have never seen her leave. She coo’s in the morning, and then is silent the rest of the day, until the cool breeze of evening strikes her song again. Her nest only hangs inches from my head level, and I am careful not to disturb her. I was even apprehensive about mowing the back yard, passing right by her with the roaring beast; anticipating the bleating sound of her wings at any moment during my passing, but she stood her ground.
I have developed a deep appreciation for this gentle creature. She is full of an indefinable grace, and an admirable prowess of duty. Call it instinct, call it nature, it still represents a beating heart married to determination, and it is admirable.
I feel a shame that I once found a pleasure in blasting these birds from the sky. I didn’t like the meat, and I am haunted by the memory of a few birds that the shot didn’t kill, only fell them. I remember dealing with them, and the minds pictures that still hold fresh today. I never enjoyed that part of hunting.
I even plucked a few from the telephone wires in my childhood suburban neighborhood, with the use of a bb gun. I assume as a kid, the power over another creature gave the motivation or the feeling of control in my own life. But I don’t understand the thought anymore.
The whole ordeal had me thinking about the treatment of animals overall. I had always avoided The Jungle, Sinclair’s groundbreaking proletarian novel that brought attention the slaughter houses of America, and the treatment of the beasts who suffered the experiences. However, one day while in an airport bookstore I bravely picked up a copy, and turned to a random page. It was a descriptor of a pigs being slaughtered. It had the most profound line written, that has stuck with me about the treatment of animals. “There was no one to take the terrified pig by the arm, and explain the need for his sacrifice.” We don’t give much thought, we just slaughter, day in, and day out. Thank god we have men willing to do this blood work for us. People able to lock eyes with another creature who is suffering the highest amounts of fear, and drop a hammer—hoping for a swift kill, not for the animals sake, but to keep the work easier.
We cast the thought of animal treatment off and say that’s what animals are for. They are for slaughter for food, clothing, vanity, or entertainment. All the while, a creature with thought patterns, and the ability to develop a relationship with a human, is thanklessly lead to its demise. Maybe all families should pray before meals? This would depict a basic humility of acknowledging your food suffered to an extent to be on your table. The bushman and aborigines all over the globe partake in the action of thanking their prey, acknowledging that they appreciate the animal giving its life, to sustain the life of the hunter. Of course these are “primitive” people.
We are given the gift of domestication, and give very little thought to the thousands of domesticated animals that are destroyed daily. Dogs, cats, willing participants of love and loyalty - unconditional friends. Yet the genocide goes on, day in and day out, and too little is done about it. How quick would action take place if citizens had to spend a day executing kittens and white faced dogs once a year?
There is breaking research out that studies the thought patterns and behaviors of animals. I realize there is a large consensus of people who want to remove themselves from their place in nature, and place themselves in a separate class, away from the animal kingdom. For these people, it must be frightening to see the comparison of ape behavior and human child development. Parrots, thought once to be simply capable of mimicking words, have now been proven to understand those words—but it’s just a bird? We know animals like the dolphin, whale, and even the lowly pig, are incredibly intelligent, capable and in some cases longing to interact with us on some levels. But it’s easier to just consider them “animals” and allow the slaughter to go unchecked.
One way I keep myself from going over the edge with depression over the subject of animal treatment is to realize there are ways to strike a balance. Animals in most senses are programmed alike, and that is to survive. A cow can have a good life, however long that may be, by simply being provided for. Well fed, well watered, and aptly sheltered from the elements is a fair tradeoff for the beast’s life. A gentle process to slaughter, with swift and accurate equipment, and the cycle works in both man and animals favor.
I don’t want my friends who hunt, to stop hunting, that’s not what I’m promoting here. It’s just not for me. The grocer’s meat aisle is full enough that I don’t feel the need to be the one who stalks fear, pain, and death in another creature, like a quasi coward, I will pay for this service to be done by others.
I guess I’m just not a fan of suffering, on any level. Watching a spider panicking before being squashed, or the sight of a malnourished dog, running along a dry hot freeway, hit me in uncomfortable ways. The thought of how we treat the Earth's creatures, as though we have every right to use and abuse them sometimes makes me think we as humans deserve any atrocity thrust upon us by God or Nature. A dog lays on a concrete bed somewhere tonight, and though she is capable of providing unconditional love, loyalty, and companionship, will be pulled from her cage, and coldly put down tomorrow, stuck in a room watching others go before her—they do understand what is happening, just like they understand and panic a visit to the vet. These are the thoughts that keep me up at night, as I rub the ears of my own dog, and hear the soft song of a beautiful bird, outside my window.
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