Slaughterhouse 5... Lamb to the Slaughter (Ode to Kurt Jr. and Roald)

I smashed my finger with the hammer.
I have a painful blister on the heal of my foot.
I can't stop coughing up phlegm.
I was shivering cold in bed last night.
My feet are cold from working in the snow.
Blah, blah, blah.

These are my complaints. Trivial stuff really. I have my health, I am relatively happy, and I have my freedom. When I am cussing and bitching to myself I stop, look towards the barn, and remind myself that everything is great. I can't say the same for the barn animals. Yesterday, one mother pig and all the sheep but one where taken to the slaughterhouse. Do I want to get into the emotions I was feeling as I helped corral the animals onto the truck? No, not really. Let's just say it was emotional and leave it at that.


I gave a hand in the slaughter. I wasn't throwing an axe and chopping off their heads or anything but I still played a part in the process and this made me think about the conflicting emotions I was having. Okay, I'm gonna talk about my emotions after all. I felt disgusted. I felt sad. I felt acceptance. I eat meat and I will continue to eat meat so I have to accept the fact that taking animals to the slaughterhouse is a necessary step in the process from turning pig to ham roast and sheep to lamb chops but this realization didn't make it any easier for me to hold the sheep by the neck and push her out the barn door unto the truck while she struggled with all her might to get back into the safety of her pen.

I am somewhat comforted knowing that the farm raise their animals humanly, are fed organic food, and are free to graze in the pasture during warmer months. I do like seeing where the meat I am eating is coming from. At least I was able to rub the mother pigs head as she was shaking, resisting getting onto the truck. I calmly spoke to her to sooth her anxiety and confusion. Or maybe I was doing this for myself? Either way, it seemed healthier than those effed up video's at the PETA website showing animals being tortured on their trip to the slaughterhouse. It makes my stomach hurt.


What else makes my stomach hurt is the sound of the last lonely sheep bleating as he looks out the window with pleading eyes. He is looking for the rest of his herd, wondering why they are not coming back home. The poor guy.