“Horror after Horror”: Eat Local, Kill Local, Part III
October 4, 2011 19 Comments
So, one of my posts on backyard slaughtering seems to have started a small brushfire of opposition. The usual insults: I’m a moron, a supporter of factory farming, and, as a result, deserve to die a slow, protein-deficit-induced death alongside my fellow vegans. Discourse!
To clarify, my intention in drawing upon published blogs to highlight the dangers of backyard slaughtering is to support my contention that this method of raising animals is rife with potential problems. I have made it clear that I respect people for taking charge of their food supply. But by no means is backyard slaughtering an adequate solution to the horros of factory farming. My own solution could not be more clear: we should not raise animals, say we care for them, and kill them for food. Is this such a radical proposition?
Just today, a response by an urban farmer chastised me (well, she actually threatened to butcher me) for suggesting that the horrors of raising animals for food are hardly unique to factory farming. I took a moment to read further on this person’s blog and, lo, here’s what I find from June 2011:
This morning started out with coffee the news and a warm bed kitty, scott was still snoring. All was well in inside the house not even a dead rat to step on. At 8:00 I went out to let out the horde and I discovered horror after horror.
I let out the chickens in the big barn then opened the West wing and smelled blood. That is never a good thing as I have never seen a chicken get a period. I figured someone got a cut from sneaking thru the wire to the big barn. NOT SO MUCH I opened the turkey/chicken pullet crate and just about fainted and threw up. Terrified chicks covered in their siblings blood. Missing heads,wings and legs. The mangled and half dead struggling in bloody filth while getting trampled by the terrified living.. Hang on I gotta cry for a bit….. I grabbed up the survivors thinking I could “save” them by sticking them in the brooder where they could dry off and warm up that is when I discovered I was holding one with no leg and the other had no wing. As sad as it is I got a pair of Felco #2 garden cutters and took off their heads to stop their suffering. I stomped upstairs and announced that “everything is fucked on the farm” Scott sans coffee and pants looked stricken. I blamed him he blamed me. You know marriage….
I will spend the day looking for how the bastard got in. As well as being a true farm tragedy this also a substantial monetary loss. Anyone want to come and help me dig a mass grave and hold a funeral? Why does the word funeral have “fun” in it?
Over and over again backyard bird keepers tell me I have no idea what I’m talking about. But, you see, they’re the ones doing all the talking. And it’s bloody disturbing.