My father is retired now, but he had to give up on animal ranching when I was still a little girl. Why? Because he thought the cows were too sad and cute looking. I'm serious. He would stand out by the pen and look at their faces when they were being taken off to market, and he'd cry over them. He said he knew they knew where they were going, and he also said he knew they were sad about it.
He had to quit raising pigs because they were too friendly like dogs, and he had to quit raising sheep because they were too cute and sweet, and he hated scaring them. He would freak out when the sheep sheerer would come to sheer the sheep. He'd tell the guy to *slow down* and *please be more careful* because the sheerers would just grab the sheep, flip 'em over, and start sheering, and Daddy didn't like the sheep to be treated so roughly.
He's not a vegetarian, and neither am I, but he *never* intentionally ate any of his own animals, and he never allowed us too. He couldn't stand the thought of eating a pig, cow, or sheep that he'd spent hours looking over the fence at or eating someone who had watched him from the field. He always said he couldn't eat *someone* he *knew!* My mother was a city girl, and she thought he was ridiculous. She killed one of our rabbits and served it to us for supper one night, and Daddy almost had a heart attack. He wouldn't speak to her for weeks. She said, "What do you think happens to those rabbits when you sell them? Are they off partying with the Easter Bunny somewhere having a blast?"
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He had to quit raising pigs because they were too friendly like dogs, and he had to quit raising sheep because they were too cute and sweet, and he hated scaring them. He would freak out when the sheep sheerer would come to sheer the sheep. He'd tell the guy to *slow down* and *please be more careful* because the sheerers would just grab the sheep, flip 'em over, and start sheering, and Daddy didn't like the sheep to be treated so roughly.
He's not a vegetarian, and neither am I, but he *never* intentionally ate any of his own animals, and he never allowed us too. He couldn't stand the thought of eating a pig, cow, or sheep that he'd spent hours looking over the fence at or eating someone who had watched him from the field. He always said he couldn't eat *someone* he *knew!* My mother was a city girl, and she thought he was ridiculous. She killed one of our rabbits and served it to us for supper one night, and Daddy almost had a heart attack. He wouldn't speak to her for weeks. She said, "What do you think happens to those rabbits when you sell them? Are they off partying with the Easter Bunny somewhere having a blast?"
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