Earlier this year, my boyfriend and I decided it was time we added chickens to our backyard garden. We spend the better part of January and February building our A-frame mobile coop which is technically suited for 5 hens. This was something I was thinking about doing for a long time, for a lot of reasons, and certainly we have already reaped the benefits of more eggs than we know what to do with.
But one major part of this experiment was to settle an ethical dilemma I've had since I accidentally left a worm on a sun-baked stair case and later returned to find it crispy; is it ethical to kill?
There are meat eaters who abhor seeing a dead animal. They want to remain unaware of how the slice of steak got on their table. That is their own journey complete with their own moral reasoning. For all I know they have already had this internal dialogue with themselves, acknowledged that meat means killing, are okay with that, and simply find a carcass stinky or otherwise simply don't like the aesthetics. Who can say.
I am not one of those people though. I need to make sure I fully comprehend what I am doing when I eat meat, or eat anything, or do anything in general! I want to make sure that every time I choose to eat meat, I am making a fresh cost benefit analysis, lest my decision making process be abandoned in lieu of rote behavior.
And this is part of the reason why I wanted to get chickens; to determine if I can physically kill a being for my consumption. If I can't, I am of the mind that I should probably become a vegetarian again. I am not a person who is easily disgusted. I often clean out the coop with my bare hands. (Don't worry, I wash my hands before eating... sometimes :-P) If the only thing preventing me from eating meat is that I cannot kill it, then there is no rational reason for me to say that I should eat meat, as the mere act of doing so is what is causing the killing to occur.
If I have an emotional reaction, sympathy, for example, then why should I not have a similar reaction to the chicken whose fluffy butt has not been running around my yard? I am doing the chickens no favors by supporting the propagation of large poultry houses. In addition to being killed they are horribly treated for all of their short lives. I am favoring the propagation of the Cornish Cross breed, a breed so anthropologically genetically selected that when a backyard chicken enthusiast like myself tries to raise them, they will at minimum get a 30% pre-slaughter mortality. This is a breed who has been bred to grow so fat so quickly to be made for the pot that they have heart attacks and die before the 6-8 weeks needed to go to slaughter are up.
A chicken still dies. I need to make sure my rational, holistic knowledge of that fact is included in the cost benefit analysis, and killing my own meat is the best way to not forget any aspect of that fact.
We are not strangers to death in our flock. It should be noted that we have had two taken by hawks; one of them was still a chick and had a little chick fluff left. Then a week ago, one of our hens dropped dead. We still aren't sure why, but we are suspecting that she was egg bound (where an egg/egg pieces get caught in her reproductive tract and block everything else.) We weren't forcefully sad about the event. My boyfriend keeps saying he is disappointed, not sad, that the chicken didn't make it to our dinner table.
But I am not wholly convinced by either of us. Sometimes we bring it up, saying simply, "poor Not-Penguin".
That being said, chickens are mean creatures. Not-penguin, the term we used to differentiate this barred rock who died from the other two, was one of two chicks we purchased after the first hawk victim was taken away. Because at that time the two of them were still babies while the other four were full fledged pullets (hen form, not laying eggs yet), they were really picked on. The Penguin and Not Penguin could be seen running through the yard together, often wing and wing touching. After Not Penguin collapsed and died, the first chicken trying to peck at it and eat it was The Penguin. So much for being butt buddies.
Is inter-chicken cruelty a good reason for why it is okay to kill these creatures? Is the selfishness of the species what makes it okay to take away the one thing all creatures desire to do (survive)? I am kind of banking on it. How they view the world is clearly different from how humans view the world. They are driven by instinct and outside events. Death is what will happen to them, in any scenario, and they will never be authors of it. That I have given them a good life while they are here is payment for the fact that I will profit from being that author.
Then again, sometimes I think, if a bunch of teenaged girls were locked in a high school, with ice cream, cheeseburgers and other treats in abundance to eat around them, would it be okay for us to kill them because they keep making fun of the ugly one and all they think about is shoes?
There will be a part II to these ramblings after our first slaughter.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part III
Turning his attention back to the leather-bound dictionary, he browsed through a couple of pages, taking note of a few words. He flipped to the end of the book, mindlessly reading through the definitions, pronunciations and word usage. "vru..." he tried, "vru'bech" as he lifted a finger to a nearby shrub and while looking at Onion. The Nü girl smiled at him and nodded her head. Plant. He pointed to the earth beneath him and offered "bech". She smiled again. Dirt. Vru'bech; made of much earth; plant. Similar to a word he already knew: vru'poh; made of many words; book.
What would they call a library? he wondered. Vru'vru'poh? he chuckled to himself. He opened the book to the back page, the index to find out, when something on the inside of the back cover caught his eye. It was a quick scribble, a message to Gregor. Cedric was feeling light-hearted in his linguistic adventures, and the man who asks no questions allowed himself to indulge his curiosity, just this once.
As Onion was putting the finishing touches to her row of the phonetic character "dae", Cedric's sudden tortured cries pierced her concentration and she dropped the quill from her fingertips. Again, Cedric's eyes scanned the inside back cover, hoping it was only a trick of the mind.
To the only person in the world who doesn't have to spread their legs for my affection,
Keep your wits about you and remember to come home some day. If I find you've gone over to the natives I'll drag your ass out of there, I don't care what woman's bed I have to pull you from! Take care of yourself brother. Rüern keep you pure, but not too pure.
What would they call a library? he wondered. Vru'vru'poh? he chuckled to himself. He opened the book to the back page, the index to find out, when something on the inside of the back cover caught his eye. It was a quick scribble, a message to Gregor. Cedric was feeling light-hearted in his linguistic adventures, and the man who asks no questions allowed himself to indulge his curiosity, just this once.
As Onion was putting the finishing touches to her row of the phonetic character "dae", Cedric's sudden tortured cries pierced her concentration and she dropped the quill from her fingertips. Again, Cedric's eyes scanned the inside back cover, hoping it was only a trick of the mind.
To the only person in the world who doesn't have to spread their legs for my affection,
Keep your wits about you and remember to come home some day. If I find you've gone over to the natives I'll drag your ass out of there, I don't care what woman's bed I have to pull you from! Take care of yourself brother. Rüern keep you pure, but not too pure.
Cedric
Whimpering and at a loss for words, Cedric tumbled to Onion's makeshift campfire study and seized the pen now lying in the dirt. Before she could react, he dipped the quill in the ink fountain and next to the signature in the dictionary, he began to write out his name.
*Insert picture of signatures here*
The pen was bolder in the former rendition of his name. Cast in confident strokes, the letters stood out as a signature unbowed. His current inscription was laid thickly, full of angst and caution. Every line bore the weight of uncertainty. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the kinship of those two signatures.
Chapter 8 - Part II
Stubborn he thought, but as a denizen of the once powerful and still proud former Chosen Empire, he was as much captivated by a desire for linguistic autonomy. In Falloth, the people of the province speak a bastardized version of Yibouhese while their own oral traditions are long since forgotten. In the few colonies that exist in Benge, coin is exchanged and laws are written in the Empire's words.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part I
As the buttes of eastern Eirdred Province grew, so did the stones and cobbles on the road. Onion had become increasingly displeased in her role as sickly leper girl,and her bottom was woefully abused by the road while her sturdy, well-traveled legs went neglected.
The idle boredom did give Vren the opportunity to leaf through the first anthology of paper and ink she ever owned. If nothing else, it was an attractive book, though a little worn from use. Dog-eared pages produced hairline cracks between sheets of paper so thin they otherwise seemed glued together.
Cedric covered a yawn with one hand while the other clung tightly to the wéhkàu leading their cart at the tail end of the caravan. Onion shifted uncomfortably in her wrappings while sitting in the wagon. Leprosy, long since cured by the Scholar Emperor Pren during the Age of Medicine, often brought pilgrimages from the outer states of Yibouh to Pho-Boteth for healing. Few doctors desired to travel outside of civilization to help the barbarians of the empire, though they welcomed the sick without discrimination.
Yet although it was an easy cure, throughout the empire old fears and superstitions seemed to be more contagious than the disease itself. The two of them remained at the end of the caravan and camped just outside of the main Soa group, with their fanciful and colored covered wagons. Though the Eirdren who traveled with the Soa formed their own group, their companions did not bother Cedric or Vren. This was somewhat a boon to the former chef as he was not confident of his ability to repeat his story and Vren was completely useless in that area as well.
The Soa they traveled with were mostly merchants, but a couple of wéhkàu yak breeders joined along to care for the beasts of burden. Horegrel, the guide and father figure of the main Soa family called himself a gemmer, and had made a small fortune bringing useless colored rocks to rich Eirdren nobility. He loved the deepness of the Eirdren pockets, and how he could use their shiny metal to acquire furniture, skins and foodstuffs to bring back home. Regarding the Eirdren themselves, he felt bemused antipathy. His kindness to the city-dwelling Cedric was simply to spark the amusements of his fellow Soa travelers at the expense of of the former chef. Of course, Cedric could not understand their japes, but nonetheless, he understood the folly of inciting even stronger passions from his Soa traveling companions.
Cedric had taken notice of Onion's physical molestation of a small brown book, lined with silver in her gauzed hands.
Curious.
She had never once opened it. She just stared at it, gently cradling it in her hands as if it were a dear treasure, but too afraid to look upon it lest it fly away.
Gregor had been queerly kind to the woman, and while somewhere he could feel in his gut that this was natural of the Bei'thal, his mind nagged at him with sprouts of questions. True, they were questions that were instinctively crushed underfoot, but lately it was becoming harder and harder to suppress curiosity.
Still, since their incarceration and escape, she had been docile, perhaps even pathetic looking. A lost sheep with nowhere to go. Or maybe that was just the gauze.
Extending a pale, reddened hand recently blistered by wéhkàu reigns, he pointed to the Nü's recent leather-bound acquisition and exercised his poor and atrophied language skills.
"Tözjak vru'poh (LINGUISTIC NOTES: töz-give jak-you (implied 'to me') vru-grown from, poh-word, vru'poh = book)" he motioned with his hands and Onion complied by handing over the book to him. She even seemed relieved to be free of it, strangely enough.
"Gregor's dictionary." he muttered, not entirely sure how he knew. He quickly flipped through the pages, looking for the words, "Read" "Understand" and "Dictionary" to fashion a sentence to inquire about Onion's level of comprehension of the text.
"Zuo." was the response; no, a word he understood well in Nüish. He flipped more pages and pointed to a rock. "pai'vik (LINGUISTIC NOTES: pai - part of, vik - mountain, pai'vik = rock)" he ventured in Nüish then followed shortly with the Lithenese, "folth" for boulder. It was Onion's turn now, and strange as it sounds felt to her lips, she reproduced his word with a level of success she did not realize she was capable of.
"Folth."
Cedric smiled. He was getting somewhere.
In this way the two passed the time. The changing landscape from broken plateau to foothills provided more opportunities for the acquisition of nouns and verbs. At camp, Cedric tried his hand at teaching her the phonetic alphabet of the eastern coast of the empire, codified when Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor were still the Chosen Empire. Yibouhese glyphs that were used regularly in administration and in the education of the nobility, but were only occasionally peppered in daily correspondence, could come later.
It was a trying task, especially since the Nü refused to learn the phonetic alphabet to write down her own language. The dictionary, both the Nüish and Lithenese sides had been written entirely in Chosen script. There existed a script for the tribes of the Outer Crest developed largely by the northern Nü, who had ended their nomadic lifestyles and gravitated towards population centers generations before the southern part of the archipelago. Few southerners understood this script, but Onion vowed that if she were ever to gain literacy in her native tongue, it would be with that writing style. She may have begun learning Lithenese to interact on the continent, but she would become literate to one day interact again with her people.
The idle boredom did give Vren the opportunity to leaf through the first anthology of paper and ink she ever owned. If nothing else, it was an attractive book, though a little worn from use. Dog-eared pages produced hairline cracks between sheets of paper so thin they otherwise seemed glued together.
Cedric covered a yawn with one hand while the other clung tightly to the wéhkàu leading their cart at the tail end of the caravan. Onion shifted uncomfortably in her wrappings while sitting in the wagon. Leprosy, long since cured by the Scholar Emperor Pren during the Age of Medicine, often brought pilgrimages from the outer states of Yibouh to Pho-Boteth for healing. Few doctors desired to travel outside of civilization to help the barbarians of the empire, though they welcomed the sick without discrimination.
Yet although it was an easy cure, throughout the empire old fears and superstitions seemed to be more contagious than the disease itself. The two of them remained at the end of the caravan and camped just outside of the main Soa group, with their fanciful and colored covered wagons. Though the Eirdren who traveled with the Soa formed their own group, their companions did not bother Cedric or Vren. This was somewhat a boon to the former chef as he was not confident of his ability to repeat his story and Vren was completely useless in that area as well.
The Soa they traveled with were mostly merchants, but a couple of wéhkàu yak breeders joined along to care for the beasts of burden. Horegrel, the guide and father figure of the main Soa family called himself a gemmer, and had made a small fortune bringing useless colored rocks to rich Eirdren nobility. He loved the deepness of the Eirdren pockets, and how he could use their shiny metal to acquire furniture, skins and foodstuffs to bring back home. Regarding the Eirdren themselves, he felt bemused antipathy. His kindness to the city-dwelling Cedric was simply to spark the amusements of his fellow Soa travelers at the expense of of the former chef. Of course, Cedric could not understand their japes, but nonetheless, he understood the folly of inciting even stronger passions from his Soa traveling companions.
Cedric had taken notice of Onion's physical molestation of a small brown book, lined with silver in her gauzed hands.
Curious.
She had never once opened it. She just stared at it, gently cradling it in her hands as if it were a dear treasure, but too afraid to look upon it lest it fly away.
Gregor had been queerly kind to the woman, and while somewhere he could feel in his gut that this was natural of the Bei'thal, his mind nagged at him with sprouts of questions. True, they were questions that were instinctively crushed underfoot, but lately it was becoming harder and harder to suppress curiosity.
Still, since their incarceration and escape, she had been docile, perhaps even pathetic looking. A lost sheep with nowhere to go. Or maybe that was just the gauze.
Extending a pale, reddened hand recently blistered by wéhkàu reigns, he pointed to the Nü's recent leather-bound acquisition and exercised his poor and atrophied language skills.
"Tözjak vru'poh (LINGUISTIC NOTES: töz-give jak-you (implied 'to me') vru-grown from, poh-word, vru'poh = book)" he motioned with his hands and Onion complied by handing over the book to him. She even seemed relieved to be free of it, strangely enough.
"Gregor's dictionary." he muttered, not entirely sure how he knew. He quickly flipped through the pages, looking for the words, "Read" "Understand" and "Dictionary" to fashion a sentence to inquire about Onion's level of comprehension of the text.
"Zuo." was the response; no, a word he understood well in Nüish. He flipped more pages and pointed to a rock. "pai'vik (LINGUISTIC NOTES: pai - part of, vik - mountain, pai'vik = rock)" he ventured in Nüish then followed shortly with the Lithenese, "folth" for boulder. It was Onion's turn now, and strange as it sounds felt to her lips, she reproduced his word with a level of success she did not realize she was capable of.
"Folth."
Cedric smiled. He was getting somewhere.
In this way the two passed the time. The changing landscape from broken plateau to foothills provided more opportunities for the acquisition of nouns and verbs. At camp, Cedric tried his hand at teaching her the phonetic alphabet of the eastern coast of the empire, codified when Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor were still the Chosen Empire. Yibouhese glyphs that were used regularly in administration and in the education of the nobility, but were only occasionally peppered in daily correspondence, could come later.
It was a trying task, especially since the Nü refused to learn the phonetic alphabet to write down her own language. The dictionary, both the Nüish and Lithenese sides had been written entirely in Chosen script. There existed a script for the tribes of the Outer Crest developed largely by the northern Nü, who had ended their nomadic lifestyles and gravitated towards population centers generations before the southern part of the archipelago. Few southerners understood this script, but Onion vowed that if she were ever to gain literacy in her native tongue, it would be with that writing style. She may have begun learning Lithenese to interact on the continent, but she would become literate to one day interact again with her people.
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