Monday, August 30, 2010


Did you know I'm a closet member of PETA? At least, that's what my family has always accused me of. I have always been an animal lover. Growing up I had a lot of pets. Cows, chickens, rabbits, lambs, geese--oh yeah, dogs and cats too. Most would think, with the exception of dogs and cats, that these are farm animals, not pets...but you'd be wrong. They were my pets. I named them. I feed them. I taught my chickens to fly. I read stories to my lambs. I taught my geese to swim in a pool (okay it was instinct, but I babied them along the way). And parents killed them and served them up for dinner.

Sure, they meant well. My dad thought that I needed to understand the animals' purpose. And I did understand their purpose, I just couldn't see why we had to eat my pets, the ones I'd loved and cared for. I remember crying in my room on the days the chickens were to be butchered, and refusing to go out to see the bull one last time before it was sent off to meet it's ill fate. Finally, my parents decided to stop telling me when it was happening and just let me find the "lb. roast" (lamb roast) in the freezer the next day. I'm not sure which was more traumatic.

Then there were my brothers who loved to point out that we were having "Herbie Burger" for lunch, or "Cinnamon chops" for dinner. And there was hunting, lots of hunting at my house. Deer, antelope, elk, you name it, it was hanging in our cooler. Needless to say, I'm a little gun shy as an adult.

Colonel Mustard would love to go hunting or fishing, but I'm a little less than supportive.

But this week, he finally took the boys fishing for the first time. And since hunting and fishing is a milestone for little boys, I had to record it.

We just went to a little rainbow trout farm where the fishing was good and very easy. The boys enjoyed catching fish. Andrew seemed to understand from the get go that this was fun...and dinner.  He was good with that.

 I was a little surprised at Ethan though. He was highly entertained with the fishing, and loved to see the fish in the bucket, but that quickly changed. He was happily watching the fish when he realized that one of them was no longer alive. He stroked the fish and shocked, looked at me and said Mommy the fishy died. "I know Ethan, that is what happens when you go fishing. Daddy will put them on the grill and you will get to eat them for dinner." He angrily looked away and declared," No. I'm not eating those fishes." Then he walked away. I recognized a little girl in him, and felt bad for exposing him to the facts of life. But he, like I, will survive in knowing that life isn't always easy or pretty.

There awful brothers. Don't you feel bad now for the lifelong trauma you imposed upon me? No, you don't...and if any of them read this, I'm certain they would crack another joke about who's for dinner!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I wasn't even there very often and I am laughing at your story! My life is similar to the Colonel's. My guns have not tasted the sweet smell of gunpowder since I married Brenda. I don't believe she was traumatized by her brother however. Great writing...Love, Bob (the nicer brother.... because he seldom came to visit!!)