My head was splitting as I switched on the light in the kitchen. Ouch. Worse. I put on a kettle of water and glanced at the clock. 5:56am.
I’d been awake since 2:15am, tossing, turning, stressing and sobbing silently in our family bed. Finally, I disentangled Isla’s thin, warm limbs from my own and rolled out of our toasty nest of tossled sheets, down comforter and quilt. I left behind my tear sodden pillow and stumbled into the dark bathroom. Randy turned over, probably aware in some deep land of slumber that my exit at this early hour meant he had escaped milking duty. I blew the snot from my nose and dried my red, burning eyes. I had to do it today. I could not live another week with this monumental deed weighing so heavily on my shoulders. Bucky had to go. NOW.
THIS MORNING.
Coffee grounds pattered softly into the glass bodum carafe. The choice of coffee over my usual pot of green tea was indicative of how horrid I felt. My mind replayed all the images of my sleepless night as the steam rushed upward from the boiling water…
…The muzzle of my father’s gun placed just below the knob of Bucky’s horn buds… my trigger finger taking up the tension and slowly pulling back towards my sweaty palm… Bucky innocently nibbling at the pile of choice grain I had piled on the ground for him, his fuzzy little head with the wanky right ear bobbing enthusiastically, happy to be eating alone without the constant interference of his herd. And then, the ear splitting sound of the discharge and the rude slam of the butt against my right shoulder.
And then what? Would the bullet blow his head apart? How much blood would there be? Would he drop immediately? Would he struggle? Would I drop the gun and collapse in a sobbing heap in the blood splattered snow? Or, my biggest dread of all – would I miss and merely injure him, putting him through extreme pain and suffering before I could still my shaking hands and finally shoot true?
Why in the hell had I said I would pull the trigger?
This had been a joint decision to purchase and raise a meat goat. Randy and I felt it was an important aspect of homesteading. Although we had both been vegetarians for 10 years, we were now carnivores and believed we should take responsibility for our carnivorous choices. So, where did my partner disappear to? Why was I the one researching the best way to angle the bullet into the goat’s skull and how to skin, gut and butcher the goat afterwards? Why was I the one planning the morbid chore, sharpening my buck knife, gathering my support group and setting the date?
As I chugged my black coffee, a sleepy Isla straggled out of bed, looking like a jailbird in striped pajamas, and insisted on accompanying me to the barn in the 4 degree pre-dawn. Once the fresh milk had been strained and chilled, and Isla was warming up in the bath, I unexpectedly got the apology I did not even know I needed. Desperately needed. Funny how that works. And funny how once that apology came, the emotions I had not yet identified came rushing out in angry words.
Randy leaned against the blast from my sleep deprived, Scottish-Irish temper, then calmly admitted that he had been “checking out” around the impending slaughter day. Simply put, he was dreadfully uncomfortable about it. His admission and apology quickly defused my wrath as I realized this was one of the many things I loved about him – he was sensitive and emotional. Sure, he could whack off the heads of the mean, rapist roosters – but he hated doing it. We usually didn’t eat meat for a week or 2 afterwards. And shooting a sweet, innocent goat was different from beheading a nasty rooster. We both knew this was true. This was my gentle bear of a partner – all 6′-3″ of him. And I would not want him any other way. I also remembered that I had been forewarned. He had told me from the beginning that someone else would need to pull the trigger as he was not up for that challenge. Our argument was concluded with his promise that he would not abandon me next weekend, and that promise washed away the remaining fire in my hazel eyes.
And then the processing began….
Everything has to eat, as Isla will tell you, and we have chosen to be meat eaters. The majority of our species is right along there beside us. But we are not animals – we are emotional beings. So we do everything possible to distance ourselves from what being carnivorous really means. We do not want to feel uncomfortable about the choices we are making. Animals are totally renamed to start with. Cows transmogrify into “beef” once the processing plant takes over. Pigs miraculously change into “pork”, “ham” and “bacon”. Even the wild deer leaping freely through it’s native forest becomes “venison” once it’s antlers scrape the frozen earth and lay still. (Yet chicken remains chicken and fish remains fish…. is it only the 4-legged ones we rename for our emotional comfort?)
We wheel our wire baskets through aisles of fluorescent-lit boxes, cans, vegetables, and – oop! There’s that neat little pink lump all sanitarily plastic wrapped on a styrofoam tray, nuzzling the laundry detergent, and peeking shyly from behind a bag of frozen broccoli florets. Um… HELLOOOOOO. That is COW. A COW part. In your shopping cart. Right THERE. That hunk of FLESH was mooing a week or 2 ago. Let’s hope it was a happy moo. Let’s hope it was raised with respect, on open pasture, without growth hormones and antibiotics. Let’s hope it was slaughtered humanely. Or did that COW live it’s short, pathetic life in a filthy feed lot, so jammed with other COWS that the sick ones could not even fall to the manure caked earth? Did that COW ever even know what grass was? And was it carried to the slaughter pen in the bucket of a front end loader because it was so weak and sick it couldn’t walk there on it’s own power? If it doesn’t say “organic” and “pasture raised” on it, you can bet it led the latter sorry life.
No, I am not making these scenarios up. And yes, I still eat meat. Organically grown, pastured meat. Preferably raised locally. But even these choices have not felt like enough lately. I want to know FOR SURE how the meat I eat is raised, treated, and harvested. And the only way to do that is raise and kill the animal yourself.
So here we are, looking down the gun barrel of our first 4-legged domestic animal slaughter: Our Bucky, AKA: Buckster, Buckmeat, Buckmeister.
Randy says, “You should never name and love an animal you plan to eat.” I say, “Why should Bucky be treated differently from Hazelnut and Fiona, just because he will be eaten instead of milked? I could never shut my heart off to him while opening it to the other goats.”
And Randy says (hypothetically), “Why can’t we just sell him to someone else and they can eat him?” And I say, “Because he is OUR Bucky and we have made a huge investment in him both financially and emotionally. And how do I know the next owner won’t abuse him before they kill him in some UNrespectful and UNhumane fashion?”
And my friend says, “Why don’t you just keep him instead of eating him?” And I say, “Because we can not afford to keep a farm animal who does not pay rent in some way. I am not interested in supporting another pet.”
And my friend says, “I heard that women should really not be the ones who do the slaughtering. They are the mothers, the nurturers. The men should do the killing.” And I say, “That may be true, but it is also the women who get things done. Woman are practical. Women are mother bears. They can do what is needed to be done.”
And Randy says, “We need time to prepare. Let’s keep it scheduled for next Saturday like we had planned.” And I sigh, and say, “OK. I can wait, now that I have processed through this truck full of emotions.”
And Randy says, “It obviously upsets you terribly, Sweetie. You know you don’t have to do this.” And I say, “Discomfort has seldom stopped me from doing what I feel is right. I have a belief and I need to see if I can support it. I can not just sit down and let myself be paralyzed by fear.”
And Randy says, “Why don’t we just let Justin shoot him? He’s a law enforcement ranger and was raised on a farm.” And I say, “I sure would like Justin to be there for support, and a second shot if it’s needed. But this is just something I have to experience. I just need to do it myself.”
And I think I can. I hope I can. At the least… I can try. For the knowledge that I can be accountable and responsible for the choices I make so offhandedly. For Bucky, as strange as that may sound. For my family.
But most of all…. for myself.
Bucky
Back Porch Farm 
next Saturday? January 26th? I hope your next blog deadline is shortly thereafter. You have me on the edge of my seat.
There might be one before Deb as Justin is taking me to shoot the gun for the first time Tues.
You are a stronger woman than me. May you have a steady hand, may your aim be true, and may Bucky leave this life knowing he was loved.
The perfect blessing TC. Thanks!
gosh, Lars– you sure brought out a lot of old emotions and thoughts for me on this one. I stopped eating meat in January of 1974 and don’t feel any need or desire to go back to meat-eating. So understand I’m coming from a potentially intolerant position.
I’m not sure I understand why you feel the need to kill your own meat for yourself. I know it’s a lot harder to feel compassion for that plastic wrapped pink package in the grocery store, but it sound to me like you are already there with a true appreciation of how those animals suffered for our dinners. And the suffering you have gone through just ANTICIPATING Bucky’s demise tells me you appreciate his upcoming sacrifice. Do you need to add to your own suffering by being the one to pull the trigger?
You have blessed him by giving him a good life. I would argue that you could count this as a valuable learning experience, admit that you are not cut out for slaughtering your own meat, and give him to a petting zoo for the remainder of his life.
Hope this doesn’t make your final decision any harder than it already is. Love you all, cuz!
xxxooo
I hear you Liz. Just since publishing the post, so many more thoughts and considerations have come up for me. I think this whole count down week is going to be a series of posts just to help me process it all. I am trying to completely put aside my own “suffering” around this as my inner critic voice says, “You made your bed, now lie in it!” Meaning, I chose to be a carnivore, so it’s time to buck up and deal with what that means. Harsh, perhaps, but that’s me. And I am trying to shift my attitude from a place of dread and anxiety to a place of calm acceptance and respect for the process of death in general. It’s taking a lot of work. Stay tuned for more deliberations over the next few days, and please continue commenting! Love ya cuz. XO
Ouch is right!
When we lived on the farm, I helped other people butcher chickens, hogs and cows. I could never bring myself to kill any animal, which led me to stop eating meat. If I was not willing to put an animal through that suffering because it was disturbing to me, how could I intentionally buy and eat any animal flesh?
Besides, I like animals! They are a lot like us, or rather, we are a lot like them.
As you know, I’m not a heavy on this issue — every person decides for themselves and their conscience.
Best wishes for your peace of mind!
Thanks for sharing Seamus. I am realizing this process has become a real opportunity for me to look at, address, deliberate and possibly answer many very old questions about life and death. It is a complicated issue! I wish you were here – you so great to process with. XO
I am not sure i could raise a animal, care for it, and kill it. I have no problem killing a elk, deer, etc., which is the majority of my meat.
If I raised the animal with the mind frame that it was going to end on the table, maybe. But I have never done it.
I guess the distance of the kill of a wild animal makes it less personal.
If you guys need a hand, let me know. There is a great butcher in La Jara, but its not the butchering that’s going to be hard, its the kill.
I think once you get into the butchering, which is a lot of work, your mind frame will change. Might be good to not eat before, have the grill going, and cook some backstrap or the tenderloin steaks after the butchering to start the process.
Bill
Bill, I’ve been deliberating about calling you since Justin has to work that day. Either you or Adam. I just want a second shot, so to speak, if needed, and a fast one who is comfortable. Have you ever butchered your own deer?
Oh man. Best of luck with this! I am sure with all of the love and care you have given him he will be as tasty to eat as he is cute and nerve-wracking. My own first butcher day is a month away. My beau and I have the same deal… I do the processing.
I would suggest something to you… Watch a video of people processing a goat. I know there is one on youtube (although I think they hold down the goat gently but firmly and use a knife which was very quick). You could also watch one of sheep and expect about the same thing. It’ll give you a better idea of what you’re getting into than any description. Watch it until you can play it back in perfect detail in your head without being upset at all. Then you’ll be ready to put your own animal in that picture. You’ll have an exact plan of how things should go and you’ll freak out less when things start going according to that plan.
That is an excellent suggestion. I have surfed a lot for info and found many photos, but I have not yet watched a video. I will see if I can find the one you mention. In the mean time, if you find a link to the video, would you mind sending it to me? What animal will be your first harvest?
Hmm, this is the one I saw;
But this one would be better for your situation with a gun;
What they use in this one is just a pistol. Despite what the guy doing the talking says the goat dies the moment the bullet hits and you can tell by the way it falls. Any body after death twitches and thrashes a little bit so that also means nothing. (Death is never pretty.) In fact I am pretty sure it’s tail shakes long after it’s bled out… It’s just muscle reflex. I think watching this video (and ones like it) will help you a lot. It’s a very matter-of-fact process.
My first animal will be a rabbit. We’re raising rabbits for meat and right now my 7-baby litter is four weeks old. The two purebred females are going to someone as 4H breeders and the rest are almost all bucks and will be for our freezer and dinner table. They’ll be processed at 10 weeks. :3
Thank you! I will watch both once I get my 3 yr old in bed. I REALLY appreciate it. I have considered raising rabbits. Currently my plan is to get skilled enough with my bow to try to shoot a rabbit nearby. At our old house, 20 mins away, there could be 6 at a time just sitting in the road. It’ll be a good test. I’d like to keep in touch and see how the harvest process is for you.
Raising rabbits is a lot of fun and rabbit meat is delicious and EXTREMELY healthy. Bow hunting is hard. I have shot longbows and recurves for over 10 years now and I am TERRIBLE at it. Also rabbits taste best young… Adult rabbits are best for stewing. Oh, and your husband is really right about the names. With rabbits it’s impossible to name them all anyhow (having potentially 12 in each litter) so I mark them with colors in their ears and use the colors in lieu of names for the litters.
I really hope the videos help you out! Even though I’ve never processed an animal before I feel really confident about it and I am sincerely looking forward to it after having watched every rabbit processing video I could. I’m sure there’ll be posts about it. :3
I am feeling better and better as more time passes. I think it will be fine, and ultimately, very fascinating (the entrails and butchering part). And if all else fails, I’ll have a bottle of single malt scotch at hand. 😉 That always seems to help the attitude when things are looking bad. HA!
omg… I can understand your emotions… I would eel the same way… when my husband brought me rabbit meat I couldnt eat it, because that was rabbit I took care of. But this is the reality: If you eat meat, you understand that you eat a killed animal.
Yes, or so I feel. But we’ll see if I feel differently after this weekend! Good luck with your house building!
Thanks! And good luck to you too!