June
1996
A
Pig Named Hope and a Turkey Named Jessie: Towards Vegan Kinship
By Lorri Bauston
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Since Farm Sanctuary began in 1986, my partner Gene
and I have investigated hundreds of stockyards, factory farms, and slaughterhouses.
People often ask us how we cope with seeing so much suffering and death.
Whenever I’m asked that question, I find myself thinking about
what inspires me and gives me hope, and I think about a pig I have dearly
loved, a pig named Hope.
Hope had been dumped at a livestock market because she had a crippled
leg and was no longer "marketable." Hope was just a baby,
barely two months old. I remember how frightened she was, and how frantically
she crawled away as we approached her. Hope had never known a kind touch.
Humans had only kicked, dragged, and abandoned her. Gene and I spoke
gently to her, and wrapped a blanket around her shivering body. She
let out one small grunt as we picked her up, and then nestled into my
arms like she had always known me.
For seven years Hope was a part of our lives. We cared for all her special
needs, and she filled our hearts with love. Hope touched many other
people too. Over the years, she taught thousands of Farm Sanctuary visitors
that farm animals are just as capable of suffering from isolation, fear,
and neglect as a dog or cat, or you and I. It is comforting to know
that Hope reached so many people, especially now that she is no longer
with us. Hope passed away at our shelter, surrounded by those who loved
her. After two years, I still find myself glancing in the direction
of her favorite corner. I will never forget how she rolled over for
belly rubs at the touch of my hand, or her distinct "thank you"
grunt when I placed her food bowl in front of her. Most of all though,
I will always remember how her life inspired us to continue to fight
for farm animal rights.
It’s easy to lose hope when you’ve just been to a slaughterhouse
or factory farm and witnessed so much cruelty. I will never forget the
first time I went to an egg factory and saw the horror of modern-day
egg production. To produce eggs, four to five hens are crammed into
a cage of about the size of a folded newspaper. The birds endure this
misery for two to three years, unable to stretch their wings, walk or
even lie down comfortably. After months of intensive confinement, the
birds lose most of their feathers, because their bodies are constantly
rubbing against the barbed wire cages. Eventually, their skin becomes
covered with painful bruises and sores. When hens become too sick or
injured to produce eggs at peak levels, they are literally thrown out
of the cage and left on the floor to die slowly from starvation.
Lily
We found Lily on the floor of an egg factory, waiting for death to end
her nightmare. She was standing in a corner, trying desperately to keep
from falling on a mound of feces and decaying feathers and bones. Lily
had given up all hope. Her entire body was hunched over, and her head
drooped close to the ground. She was covered with sores and her left
eye was swollen shut. I reached out, and gently lifted her into my hands.
She trembled as I lifted her. I kept whispering to her, softly telling
her I was a "vegan" and her misery was over. My "vegan
reassurance speeches" always seem ridiculous to me after a rescue,
but no matter how foolish I feel the next day, it’s become one
of my "rescue rituals."
For two weeks, Lily received intensive rehabilitation care. Lily was
too weak to walk, and throughout the day, I would hold her up to help
her regain strength in her legs. She also had bruising over 75% of her
body, and four times a day we wrapped heating pads around her to reduce
the swelling. Since Lily was severely emaciated, she could only eat
small amounts of liquid food through a dropper every few hours. On more
than one occasion, I wondered if we were doing the right thing, or whether
we were just prolonging her suffering: this is the shelter question
whenever an animal is near death. But one morning I had the answer.
I opened the door to Lily’s rehabilitation pen, and she walked
over to me and looked up. I immediately sat down to get as close as
I could to "chicken height," and Lily climbed onto my lap.
I reached down, and this time, I was the one trembling as I stroked
her chin. Lily gave me her love in a way that I could understand, just
like a dog "talking" with his or her tail, or a cat’s
smooth purring.
Rethinking "Dinner"
Farm animals are living, feeling animals. They are not breakfast, lunch
and dinner. Americans have drawn an imaginary line and classified some
animals as "pets" and some animals as "dinner."
Our society is horrified (and rightly so) when we hear of other cultures
eating dogs and cats, and most people would never be intentionally cruel
to a dog or a cat. I have to hope that they would never be intentionally
cruel to a cow or chicken either. people who love animals called pets
would not eat animals called "dinner" if they would only look
into the eyes of a suffering farm animal. If you saw a laying hen like
Lily, or a "downer" pig like Hope, wouldn’t you do everything
you could in your power to stop their suffering?
Well, every person can stop farm animal suffering, because every person
can be a vegan. When you stop consuming animals and animal by-products,
you stop the slaughter of hundreds of animals. Your action saves lives,
and it is as direct as going to a factory farm or stockyard and rescuing
an animal like Hope yourself. When you become a vegan, you begin to
share a special bond with farm animals. Vegan kinship is very powerful,
and it will touch you and change your life forever. You may notice strange
and wonderful things happening to you when you become a vegan. Like
the time we rescued Jessie — well actually, the time Jessie rescued
herself.
Jessie
Gene and I were making a cross-country trip with several turkeys during
one of our annual Thanksgiving ADOPT-A-TURKEY Projects. We were going
through Colorado (a major beef producing state) when I spotted her along
the interstate — a young, Angus calf just a few feet from wheezing
cars. We pulled over, threw on our boots, and started toward her. She
was extremely frightened and started running away from us. An injured
leg prevented her from moving too fast and we had her within a few minutes.
Our new "baby’ weighed about 150 pounds. As we struggled
to get her into the van, we heard angry shouting and saw a man running
towards us. We soon learned that Jessie had jumped out of a trailer
while it was traveling 60 miles an hour. When I realized what she had
done to escape her fate, I felt like an angry mother cow, ready to tear
her horns into anyone who tried to take her calf away. Finding it difficult
to keep calm, I explained to the owner that we were anti-cruelty agents
and would be willing to take this calf off his hands, because, of course,
he couldn’t take her to the auction now. To my surprise, the owner
agreed. I was gearing up for a major battle, since injured and sick
animals are legally sold at auctions all the time. To this day, I don’t
know if he agreed because he was in shock, or because he saw a raging
cow in my eyes. Or maybe, just maybe, he got a dose of vegan kinship.
The next feat was getting Jessie through the California border because
she needed to be treated at a specialty veterinary clinic in northern
California. We drove all night with her and four turkeys, through a
tortuous snow storm. Just as it was getting daylight, we came to the
California border and the agriculture check point. Now every turkey
mother knows that daylight is the time when turkeys wake up and start
chirping, and we knew we didn’t have much time. We turned up the
radio, and inched cautiously toward the checker. He asked us if we had
any apples or oranges. I smiled sweetly and replied "no,"
and drove on with the biggest grin I’ve ever worn. Jessie survived
and is now a big healthy cow. I’ve never considered myself a very
religious person, or one who thinks "everything happens for a reason."
Still, I can’t help wondering if Jessie knew we were behind her
when she jumped out of the trailer — at least I’d like to
think so.
Broadening Bonds
As a vegan, I have experienced so many incredible things, so many special
bonds with farm animals. Like many people, I am fortunate to have the
love and companionship of dogs and cats, animals who are truly a part
of my family. But unlike many people, I have also known the love and
friendship of cows and pigs, and turkeys and chickens — farm animals
who suffered horribly at factory farms, slaughterhouses, and stockyards.
And I was the one to blame. Every time I ate a pizza with cheese or
had a muffin with eggs in it. Every time I didn’t care enough
to feel their pain. We need to always remember the animals’ pain,
because that is how we find the love we need to stop it.
The production of "food animals" is the single largest, and
most institutionalized form of animal abuse. Billions of animals suffer
tormented lives, and millions of people participate in the cruelty.
But Hope’s life, and now her memory, reminds me that we can stop
"food animal" production — one life at a time, one law
at a time, and one more person at a time who becomes Vegan because they
met an animal like Hope.
Lorri Bauston is President of Farm Sanctuary, which
has sites in California and upstate New York. For information about
events, call 607-583-2225. For details on August’s Hoe-Down at
the New York sanctuary, call Dawn Hernandez at 516-944-8166 (before
10pm). A version of this article will be appearing in the forthcoming
book, Intimate Relationships: Embracing the Natural World edited by
Michael Tobias and Kate Solisti.
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