Out With The Old…

Three years ago, I was wielding a spatula, slinging spices, and rocking a carving knife, making some delish meat-centric meals for my family. All this whilst brandishing a dry pinot or three in a tipsy waltz across the kitchen.

My favourite shows were Master Chef, Hell’s Kitchen and Dinner Party Wars. I watched them almost exclusively, over and over, as I drained bottle after bottle of dry white.  I seemed to have a penchant for anything creative all my life, writing, sewing, painting, and eventually that evolved to include cooking.

 All the recipes revolved around meat, which I didn’t actually like much. All my life I have had issues with eating meat: the stringiness, the fat, the cartilage, the gelatinous textures, the smell of bones. So I rarely ate it myself, but I was a “feeder”: I cooked for everyone else. And I mean everyone!

Every kid on the block stopped by for breakfast, lunch or dinner. My kids would call their friends and say “she’s making spaghetti” and BING! someone would magically arrive at my door just in time, and naturally, I made them up a plate. My daughter’s friend would ask his mother what they were having, and then contemplate one second before stating “I’ll see what Carol’s making.”I didn’t mind one bit; I enjoyed it. But I rarely ate it. Turkey at Christmas; a hamburger at a bbq, pepperoni on a pizza, but steak? nope. Chicken on the bone? Nope. Chops? hell no. 

Then I changed a few things in my life. I left an abusive ex; the box of pinot stopped gracing my counter, and I started thinking about my health. ME. My health. My life. Things I wanted. Not anyone else. Just me. What a revelation. 

I didn’t want to eat flesh. I didn’t want to eat animals. I didn’t want any part in an industry that commodifies sentient beings and reduces them to “cuts of meat” in a supermarket. I had spent years doing it in order to please others, to follow the status quo. I did it because doing what I wanted was not an option, and in truth, I didn’t know what I wanted because all my time was spent catering to what others wanted. I had become a non-entity in my own life. I was no better off than the animals bred into the agriculture industry. I followed “the herd” because that’s all I knew and all I was allowed.

And then I deleted the negative and inserted ME into the equation. 

Better late than never, eh?

And as most vegans say: I wish I had done it sooner!

Empathy for animals has to go beyond our pets: cats and dogs. It has to go beyond wild animals hunted or trapped for fur or other products. It has to go beyond animals threatened with extinction. These issues are understood around the world as being legitimate concerns which even non-vegans will support. 

But it also has to include agricultural animals: horses, cows, pigs, goats, sheep. It has to because it’s plain logical. Why protect some animals and not others? What is the difference? Non-vegans will say “well they are bred for food.”These animals which were bred to fill a human concept: that it’s easier to go out into the field and kill a cow for food than hunt it. So agricultural animals were bred out of human LAZINESS and greed. Nature didn’t breed domestic animals, humans did. So they are not natural to this world, but now they are here, why do we think it’s ok to abuse them and not dogs (which we also bred)?

We are disgusted at the Chinese Yulin Dog Meat Festival but celebrate ribfests all summer long. We think it’s horrific that some Asian cultures eat live octopus, but really enjoy slugging back that raw (read ALIVE) oyster. And this year, we were horrified that due to a Chinese delicacy of bat soup, we ended up locked down in our homes hiding from a zoonotic novel coronavirus, but we conveniently ignore H1N1 outbreaks because “mmm bacon”.

Oh believe me, I ignored the facts too. I’m guilty of all of the above and then some. But when I made the change and stopped eating meat, I also started reading and researching, and I opened my mind to thoughts and ideas about which I previously had not heard. I went back to my nature spirit roots and had some serious conversations with my soul. I did a lot of housecleaning in my mind, opened up a few musty windows and gave that space a new coat of paint. 

I like where I am now. I like me. I have goals. I have a purpose. I have drive. I’m connecting with a new tribe and I love how that feels. I’m tapping into my creativity, my spirituality, and my imagination and it’s looking up as never before. And it’s all because I stopped using other sentient beings for my own selfish needs. I recognized we are all animals: some human animals, some non-human animals, but animals just the same. We all deserve to be treated with respect; we all deserve love; we all deserve life.

Won’t you consider this concept too?  

Aspirations and Animals

Animals touch our lives in many ways. Not only do we co-exist with them on this planet, but they have sustained us through the eons as helpmates, companions, and protectors. Those who have pets think of them as family: we celebrate our successes with them at our side, we mourn our losses, and we mourn their loss just as any family member. We turn to them for comfort when life gets tough, knowing we have their unconditional love and support.

My son asked me to write about something he experienced recently. It surprised me because he typically keeps to himself and prefers his privacy. It was such a profound incident for him, though, he felt it was worth mentioning.

This summer he found himself hospitalized for a condition called Rhabdomyolysis, when the muscles react to being severely damaged by leaking protein enzymes (called CK) into the body which then floods the kidneys. If the damage is profound, the kidneys shut down, and in a worst case scenario, dialysis may be needed and permanent damage may be done. I know right? Who knew?

He was in for seven days, pumped up with thousands of litres of fluids to dilute and eventually flush his system and kidneys. Dialysis was a possibility in his case, and daily blood tests were done to track his CK levels, which never seemed to come down. He put 60 lbs. of weight on – all fluids being pumped into him. (It all came off afterwards, slowly). He feared not just for his kidneys health, but for his life. As did we.

He kept saying, “I just want to go home.”

It broke my heart that I couldn’t take him home, and make everything go away, but his life depended on resting and taking the treatment. You know, as mothers we pretty much become psychotic creatures where our kids are concerned. I lost track of how many times I felt myself putting on my invisible viking helmet and charging through the ward with my invisible sword called “Slicer” sweeping patients and orderlies out of my way in order to effect some treatment for my son that I felt was not being done fast enough. It’s what we do.

Once he did get home, his little dog, Arel, came to greet him. Arel is a Chihuahua, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic. He is a bit of a Casanova with an overbite, and thinks all the girl doggies love him. 

You can actually hear him, saying Joey-stylez, “How YOU doing?” when he meets a female doggy. Mostly he just annoys them. But his little Chihuahua lovings are as big as a Great Dane’s and when my son finally had a chance to greet him at home, he broke down. How happy and comforted that little dog made him feel broke the barrier of any register. It was at that point he actually felt he was going to get better – he had to get better – because Arel was rooting for him.

He told me I needed to write this story so other people would know how invaluable our animals are to us; how beneficial they are. He wanted the readers to know how enriched our lives are because we have these pets to love; how our goals and perspectives can change for the better because this little trusting being is putting their life in our hands and loving us so much for it. I think he realized at that point how precious life really is, everyone’s and everything’s; that our animals should be cherished as humankind’s partners, not dismissed as lesser beings, mistreated, used up, and then tossed away when they no longer serve us. 

My son is pretty much recovered now, and Arel is back to his aloof, I’m-a-cool-dude self, ensuring his suave image is intact, but I think of all the homeless dogs and cats in shelters, and all the factory farm animals being held hostage and mistreated, and I despair not only for them, but for the people out there who don’t have this kind of love in their life, who don’t understand this concept of animals not being there for us to use. My goal is for us all to embrace all animals as sentient creatures who have as much right to this earth as us: to co-exist with them peacefully, not dominate them and use them. 

What a wonderful world it would be!