I've never killed my own dinner. Never hunted it, raised it, slaughtered it, or butchered it. In many respects, I feel it's something I should do as a meat eater, to help keep the comfort and complacency at bay. Because comfort and complacency are what will eventually drive a man to buy a hot dog at 7-11. I've been there before, and I desperately do not want to return.
If I ever realize my dreams of a pastoral life, I'll have to face killing my dinner at some point. I know it won't be easy, and I know it'll be an emotional experience. But I don't know what to really expect.
Thanks to a recent blog post from the Front Yard Farmer out of New Orleans, I have a better idea:
There’s a reason why animals raised for meat are kept in inhumane conditions. A pig in a cramped pen with a concrete floor isn’t going to get a chance to develop a personality, or at least express it. And it’s much easier to kill a pig with no personality than the one that chews on the cuff of your jeans and rolls over to be scratched with a rake.
It's an intense and very thoughtful piece about slaughtering your own livestock. If you've ever been interested, I suggest you read it. It's almost like the exact opposite of the Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations you see in Food Inc., and in my opinion it's 100% morally defensible.
[Thanks to Matt Davis for the tip]
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