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?  

Is Being Vegan An Impossible Dream?

Being vegan: simple, right? No animal or animal by-products consumed or used, pretty clear.

But is it really?

This one really blew my mind, peeps, burst the perfect bubble of veganism in which I lived. How could I not realize this? How could I be so ignorant? Well it’s no consolation, but none of us is exempt, so I’m in good company.

The facts are: plant-based farming also kills animals!

What the ACTUAL FUCK??

Well, you know me, I had to get to the bottom of this! So I put my pencil behind my ear, slapped my glasses on, picked up my mouse (computer mouse, peeps, !) and began surfing. (Also not real ocean surfing, web surfing – if you know me at all, you know I would never, EVER go deeper into the ocean than my ankles. I was traumatized enough by having to step on mussels on the PEI beach, never mind facing up to bigger sea creatures – but I digress)

Apparently, the methods used to grow and harvest plant agriculture can be deadly to wild animals, specifically field mice, but it may also include other animals who venture into the fields for food. Snakes, voles, moles, rabbits, birds, none are excluded as possible victims of the harvest. Some have argued there are more wild animals killed in plant-based agriculture than factory farming kills domestic animals, which is patently ridiculous, as the numbers published do NOT take into account the number of wild animal deaths which occur naturally per acre, such as predators, old age, disease and environmental factors. The published numbers only reflect the TOTAL per acre. And seeing as much of our plant-based farming is used to feed said agricultural animals, it’s rather a moot point, anyway.

Unfortunately, meat supporters are using these figures to undermine the ethics of plant-based/ vegan diets. These reports are being thrown in our faces left and right, with a yodel of “nanner nanner boo boo” just for good measure, and vegans are left to stammer out weak sounding justifications whilst fighting confusion at the thought that their beliefs and lifestyle are not what they thought it was.

Two words, peeps: collateral damage.

Sounds harsh, I know, but it’s something we actually deal with daily and not just in our diets.

I mean, think about it: you wake up, brush your teeth, have a coffee, drive to work, hit an old lady at the crosswalk,….wait, what? Yes peeps, in the course of you living, breathing, working, doing everything normally in your best life, shit still happens.  And it can happen to anyone.  You didn’t intend to hit the old lady, it wasn’t planned, premeditated, it wasn’t a life goal, but it happened anyway.

Ever drive over a squirrel in your car? It’s heartbreaking! I have done it, I was traumatized for days! But that squirrel, like the little old lady, was collateral damage.

Typically, it’s a military term. Wikipedia states, “Collateral damage is any death, injury, or other damage inflicted that is an unintended result of military operations…”

Did you know Buddhist monks are so concerned about hurting or killing even insects, they they pray as they walk in case they step on any living creatures unknowingly. Even just walking down the street you might be killing something!

As much as these associated deaths are painful to face and accept, they were unintentional. In fact, they occurred as a result of trying to do the right thing, and end animal abuse and slaughter completely.

Two more words, peeps: bigger picture.

We have to keep the bigger picture in mind. As vegans, our goal is to put an end to society thinking of animals as lesser beings; to encourage cessation of utilizing animals for our own gain, including food. We want to see a world in which no animals are harmed in order for humans to live. We want to see society respecting our earth and everything on it. It’s a tall order, and it’s going to take a very long time.

After all, it didn’t take us only two weeks to get to this place of pollution, climate change, species extinction, and domination. Sadly, people and animals will die or be hurt in the process – not intentionally – but just the same, it will happen.

What we must do is work towards a process where our farming methods will improve, and fewer and fewer casualties are experienced. This is more likely to occur if animals are respected as equal beings in this world, rather than inanimate commodities. I hate that living creatures are hurt in plant-based farming, but I hate that living creatures are hurt, killed and eaten even more. I hate that people can’t see it for what it is: murder.

So as far as I’m concerned, peeps, veganism is still the right path. The end goal is compassionate treatment of all living beings. Once that concept is universal, things will start to fall into place like confetti on wet pavement.

 

 

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!

 

Compassion for All!

I’ve been an animal lover all my life, but I’m ashamed to say it has only been in the last year that I took off the Self-Imposed Blinders of Cognitive Dissonance and realized that must include ALL animals, even (and maybe especially) animals we as a society typically consume for food or other products: cows, pigs, chickens, etc.

Well they say it’s never too late! To that end, I have started advocating for them and a year ago, stopped eating them.

I have been writing for our local shelter, The Niagara Falls Humane Society, for years now, and am happy to contribute in this way in an effort to help the animals and the organization which does so much for disenfranchised pets. But I realize now it doesn’t stop there. There is a whole mindset out there of differentiating between a food product animal and a pet animal. For instance, yesterday I participated in a demonstration in Burlington outside Fearman’s Pork slaughterhouse.

Me, doing my part to help people make the connection.

It was an eye-opener to say the least.

The group in charge of the event was The Toronto Pig Save, a compassionate organization which holds weekly vigils bearing witness to the pain, abuse, and torment perpetrated on pigs destined for your plate.

We have had record high temperatures, making everything hotter. Tarmac heats up quickly, internal vehicle temperatures, as we all know, can shoot up to 65 degrees C (150 deg F) on a 35 deg C (95 deg F) day. Surface temperatures have been known to reach 88 deg C, enough to cause a burn. Public education is rampant in an effort to prevent deaths of pets and children being left in cars in summer weather. (How is that even a thing?) It’s a serious issue, and I’m pretty sure no one would disagree.

Thursday was one of those days; and at 8 a.m. with the mean temperature approximately 29 deg C, it was pretty apparent it was going to be another scorcher. But it was nothing compared to what the pigs being brought to Fearman’s for slaughter felt. It was getting hot.

Crammed tightly, butt to snout, in a metal trailer with small air holes studding the sides as a meagre attempt at ventilation, temperatures quickly reached more than dangerous levels, while the animals were being rocked around the moving trailer. There was no access to water, not even water bottles hanging from the sides of the trailer for them. Many of the pigs vomited or pooped, from fear or motion sickness, or both, creating a pungent miasma in which they lay, licking moisture mixed with excrement off the floor in an effort to slake their desperate thirst. They had no idea what was happening, and the smell of their fear mixed with their body waste intensified the stench. And it was getting hotter.

Some died from heart failure or stroke due to the extreme temperatures and fear, and the others had to clamber over the bodies to move around in order to get as close to the minute air holes as possible. Still getting hotter. 

Our job was to hold up signs in the vicinity, trying to educate those driving by as to WHO they were eating, and what inhumanities were being perpetrated on them daily right in the middle of their neighbourhood! Amidst cries of “I love bacon” or “Mmmm ribs!” we staunchly held our signs and waved at the infrequent honks and thumbs up directed towards us. And it got even hotter.

When the trucks came by, we prayed to the gods of traffic lights for a red so we could run up to the trailer and give the pigs water, with soothing words and gentle breath, trying to calm them, apologizing, and explaining not all humans were so evil. It was not very believable, sadly, but we did our best. Many of us cried with the pigs, tears mingling with the water we gave. There was nothing we could do, but we did what we could. And it kept getting hotter. 

Their cries and squeals reached across the intersection as they fought each other inside the trailer for a few drops of the water. Their desperation was apparent, but equally as recognizable was the look of desolation and surrender on some of them. Barely turning their eyes towards us with hands outstretched holding a water bottle, their eyes leaking tears, caring little for the act of kindness that came too late.

One of our group running with the moving truck to give water to a paniced and screaming pig, who was trying to escape.

We took pictures destined to grace our various social media platforms, hoping that for those who are visual, showing their food source was an abomination on our humanity would sway them in a more compassionate direction. We made videos to post, pleading to the public to heed the reality of what was going on their plate and how it got there.

It didn’t help those truckloads of pigs that day; it may not help for the next day either. But I have faith that someday it will.

I have faith that every day new people are joining our group of compassionate individuals and we are growing, perhaps slowly, but very surely. We need to continue to advocate for these sentient creatures, we need to stay the course and stalwartly educate anyone and everyone, by whatever means we do best. We need to keep our faces turned upwards and face the nameless throngs, voicing the truth, and reaching out bravely to crack the screen of cognitive dissonance which has enwrapped society so tightly in its grasp of oblivion.

We can help remove the blinders, with love, with compassion.

The look of fear is evident on this one’s face; yet he doesn’t know the worst is yet to come. Photo taken by Carly (participant).

 

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