On New Years Eve, full of filet mignon, champagne, and 2010 optimism, I went to bed unaware that a crazy dream was about to cause trouble. It was about Clyde, a smiling oaf of a dog at the animal control shelter. I adored this dog so much when I volunteered there that I returned to visit him. Just something about his smile. Shortly after, a no-kill shelter rescued Clyde from death row and placed him in foster care. Clyde lives!
In my dream, I chewed on Clyde’s leg like it was a turkey leg. He was delicious. I asked Clyde if this hurt him, and he smiled and replied not to worry, people do it all the time, please enjoy. I took a bite out of his side but began to feel guilty. No worries, Clyde told me, he was just an animal and everyone does it, please enjoy. I tried to take another bite, but couldn’t bring myself to do so. Clyde smiled and encouraged me to keep going, but I knew that if I ate any more, Clyde would die.I woke up horrified. I didn’t eat meat that day. Or the next.
Since then, I’ve had meat twice. Once a relative made a chicken dinner, and I didn’t want to explain my talking dog dream to my meat-loving family. Another time, I began daydreaming about red meat and assumed my body wanted some. So last Sunday, two months since I had eaten red meat, I ordered a juicy burger. Turns out, my body didn’t want that at all.
But -- I insist in my best temper tantrum voice -- I like meat! I like Italian beefs in Chicago, pulled pork in Carolina, pastrami-on-rye in New York! I like to finish a day of yard work with Jimmy's grilled steaks, to celebrate summer with burgers or New Years with a filet. Meat is delicious! Since that dream, though, I’ve lost the taste for it -- it brought a long-simmering moral dilemma to a boil. When I look at meat, I see Clyde. Stupid, smiling Clyde. Whether I’m vegetarian, flexitarian, or whatever now, I don’t know. I only know that I didn’t have meat yesterday, I don’t want it today, and I’m not shopping to buy any for tomorrow. I harbor hope, however, that this is a passing fad that’ll have me eating corned beef by St. Paddy‘s Day.
Recently Jimmy and I went to a fantastic Indian restaurant in New York and asked the server to choose something great for us to eat. He asked for our parameters, and I asked for something spicy and without meat. “Oh, are you vegetarian?” he asked innocently.
I don’t know, I wanted to tell him, but what I do know is that there’s a trouble-maker of a dog available for adoption in Charlotte if you want him.
1 comment:
The sad thing is that for many animals (pigs, chickens, cows), their lives are so miserable as part of an industrial meat system that killing them is probably the most compassionate thing to do. The problem as I see it is not the eating of meat, it's the eating of meat that perpetuates a terribly abusive system.
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