This may be a little too morbid for some of you but I am experiencing emotions about death that I feel I should record and remember. After all, in choosing to raise animals in pursuit of a sustainable lifestyle, death is a big and regular part of our existence now.
Last night, we took John, George, Paul and Ringo, our first four heritage pigs, to the slaughter house. I haven't slept all night thinking about them. It's not that they are going off for meat, strangely I've made peace with that, they were always here for that reason. I hate the experience of the slaughter house. I'm going to describe it in some detail, not because I want to turn you all vegetarian but because, in order to be connected with your food, you should be aware of what happens.
Our friend and local farmer, Brian arrived at 4pm yesterday with his truck and trailer. As did our farming neighbours from Glorious Organics, to help us load.
We had eight pigs in our field, the four Beatles for whom it was D-day and four members of Fleetwood Mac who have a little longer for this world. The first challenge was separating them. I'd kept the pigs hungry all day, depriving them of their usual breakfast of granola and brew mash in anticipation that we might have to entice them with food. The separation went quite well, we ended up with Fleetwood Mac and Ringo in a separate section of the field. At this point, Stevie Nicks bit poor Ringo on the snout and made him bleed. Some goodbye!
George and Paul were the first two pigs to follow the granola trail up to the trailer and with a little coaxing, they were loaded without too much trouble. They have always been the most placid and trusting of the Beatles. Then we set John in our sights. John is the most anti-social of the bunch and as a result, led us a merry dance. No amount of granola was working so I had to crack out the big guns...out came the (beef) wieners. Not even wieners convinced him to cooperate and he really was being obnoxious & challenging. Ian found a roll of green netting and six of the guys were able to use it to herd him into the trailer.
Next was Ringo. He's always been a bit of a jerk but after getting his nose bitten he was happy to remove himself from the little pigs and with our new herding net, we got him on without too much hassle.
We've experience the slaughter house before and what I'm about to write is not a reflection on Johnstons' who operate the facility. It is what it is. A concrete barn with metal pens. Depressing but spotlessly clean and well set up for it's purpose. We unloaded each pigs and had to push and shove each pig into his own pen. Yes, they challenged us and barged us about and yes, I hated it. They were far from their lush green field and luxury pig mansion where they sleep cuddled up in one big pig pile. However, there was part of the barn next to us that had hundreds of pigs crammed in from a factory farm. These pigs seemed unconcerned with their predicament, probably because they had lived their entire lives in a similar facility and under the same cramped conditions.
Then we left them. Strangely, this was easier to do than to write about. This is the part though that has kept me awake all night. The point you walk away is the moment you relinquish control. I have known those pigs so well for the last six month. They had a schedule that meant at any time of the day, I knew where they were in the field and what they were doing. Let's say that you had visited the pigs at 2pm during the summer. I knew they would have been under the salmonberry bush, where they had created a labyrinth of 'rooms' and corridors and they would be napping. But now, the last 18 hours of their lives is unknown to me and I don't even want to think about that time before slaughter.
I'm annoyed by the bureaucracy that makes this process essential. The laws are very restrictive around animal slaughter. I get that there has to be measures in place to protect the consumer. However, there are people around the world eating animals they have slaughtered themselves. Surely, it is better for the animals (and apparently me) if the animals experience a quick and respectful death without fear, complete before they even know what is happening.
I was told about a lady who does all her own slaughtering and butchering on site and will come and teach you. I know my limitations and I'm not there yet. I'm not hardened to this lifestyle yet and I don't want to kill my own animals. But would I have someone come here and do it? Yes. Would I watch? Yes. I am willing to accept complete accountability for raising meat animals. Recently, we took some of our roosters to a facility that is licensed to kill poultry, but just for the owners consumption. They charge $2-$3 a bird and for that price, it really isn't worth trying it yourself. It's fairly horrific to be there, it is an open facility and you see everything. But, if my birds felt any fear, it was for no more than four seconds. I know because I watched and I was in control right to the end. I would much rather grapple with a horror that I have watched than this feeling of unknowing.
In the interest of my own sanity, I must tease some positives out of this. Firstly, our community gathered around us again. The guys from Glorious Organics came down to help us load. Maybe because when I told them we were loading the pigs into the trailer, I suggested I could end up face down in the mud. Perhaps the lure of this potential comic moment was too much to resist? Our Pig Farmer friend Brian came to help us transport the pigs and guide us. But mostly, however distressing I'm finding this right now, the Beatles were better off than their factory farmed neighbours. To live for months in a dirty, crammed, concrete barn, where they just get hosed off as a sanitary measure is not, in my opinion, a life worth dying for. Our pigs enjoyed freedom, pasture, organic food, sunshine, mud holes and tummy rubs. That is how we should honour meat animals and it is some consolation to know that every person who buys pork from local farmers, is not supporting the factory farming industry. They are making a decision that is right for animal welfare, local economy, the environment and sustainability. Through my tears, I still believe it is the ethical choice.
This will get easier, won't it?
