Life on the farm isn't always about lovely lettuces and cute kittens. We do have those but there is a reality at the other end of the spectrum, where things are rough and you experience blood, sweat and tears. That's what happened to Martin and Jeannie this past week.
Some readers may find this story disturbing, but it's the reality of life down on the farm. Martin relates his experience:
I've got a more serious tale to tell today. It started when a customer said to me, "I could never be a farmer because I love animals and I could never kill them." She wasn't opposed to eating animals. She just "loved animals too much to kill them herself." She told me that she figured farmers got used to killing animals.
Don't misunderstand, this customer was being very polite and didn't mean any offense, and none was taken, but her expression affected me and the impact of that effect was coincidentally magnified that very evening.
It was about 9:45 PM and getting dark. I heard barking as I headed to the house for bedtime tea, but thought nothing of it. As I collapsed on my sofa, I saw my sheep running frantically. Now I knew what was happening. I bolted out the door, grabbing the first weapon I saw which happened to be a corn broom.
Folks often abandon their unwanted dogs in the country because they "love animals too much to kill them." Stray dogs roam the countryside and will ravage livestock, be it cattle, sheep or poultry, just for the pleasure of the kill.
I got to the scene of the crime in time to see a large black dog had one of my lambs by the neck. I was face to face with a wild and hungry stray dog who was out for the kill. Beating the predator off with my broom, it fled with a stinging memory.
Meanwhile, Jeannie was busy rounding up the scattered sheep to make sure the flock was okay when she found a wounded lamb laying on its side at the far end of the pasture. It was alive, laying there, and not bleeding too heavily. I thought it might be okay but it wasn't able to move.
By this time, my good neighbor, who heard the commotion, hurried over to see if everything was okay. He helped me carefully carry the victim out of the pasture to the main barn so I could examine it more closely under light.
Searching through its thick wool, I found the wound; it was a small puncture straight to the spinal cord. I knew this was the end for this lamb. Even though it didn't seem to be in too much pain, it was paralyzed on one whole side of the body. There was only one thing left to do and I did it.
You can try and figure the cost of raising food and getting it to the table, but who pays for tragedies? Who considers that the farmer is in the constant business of both saving and taking life?
Farmers are bound to the light and dark realities. We taste them every day. Sometimes it's sweet and sometimes it's bitter, but we don't grow numb. Responsible farmers don't "just get used to it." We grow callouses but we don't grow calloused. Unfactored into the price you pay for the food we provide is the incalculable cost of dealing with death for you, the consumer.
One can only raise nourished and nourishing animals properly if they love them and take care of their needs. But the end comes eventually, and sometimes prematurely as in this tragic circumstance. The same farmer who loved his animals enough to provide for them must take their lives and give them to you. In the end, it's our lives we're giving you.
Think about it.