THE UN-HUNTER SYNDROME
BZZT-BZZT-BZZT….Difficulty ahead for paleo newbies!
If I am to be Jane in this Paleo lifestyle, I am going to have to confront some life-long (shudder)”issues.”
On the coir doormat this morning was a warm wren. Dead. Just a moment ago alive. Still warm.
My cat does not have ”issues” with killing wildlife. He brought this trophy to me, as Tarzan might cheerfully bring me freshly killed meat which I am then supposed to cheerfully cut up and cook.
Sorry, but I have always been thankful that the grocery store delivers killed animals nicely tricked out in a cellophane covered white foam dish with a sticker on it. I like the meat counter to be well away from where the carcasses hang, looking like late cattle or swine.
I have a dear artist friend who said, when I offered to share my rabbit skin glue (you see, we artists tend to be primal in some ways) “Of course no animals were harmed in the manufacture of this glue, right?”
She is a vegetarian. I am not. But I think we both love creatures of all kinds equally much, and that’s a LOT.
So I go through my little soliloquy to myself about man being charged with rule over animals, and the nasty laws of nature which requires animals to dine on one another, and also the reality that even we are subject to death being mortal, and that once the death event has occurred we have a different status that doesn’t (we trust) hurt.
Once dead, they are no longer inhabiting their body, I say to myself. Like us, they are dancing around in some perfect environment where they don’t have to worry about being eaten any more.
That’s how I allow myself to cut into a whole fish, or shuck an oyster. But what if I had to skin a lamb?
Thank goodness for the meat counter, is what I say. I don’t want to dwell on the past when I grab a piece of beef, pork, lamb, chicken, or fish. It’s food once it hits the meat counter.
SO that is why, when my son goes hunting for game which he intends to eat, I ask him if he “caught” anything.” It seems nicer to me to imagine him leading an animal home and not having to do the killing part—not my own son, doing the taking of a life—and he smiles and says whether he “caught” an elk or not. I really do not want to see something in his pickup that resembles majestic or even unattractive late animals.
What do others do to quell their natural affinity for living things, and for the miracle of life itself? I’d love to know. Do they compare the quickness of road-kill with the torture of death by predator, like I do? And think it a blessing to get summarily whacked by a car?
Fellow Paleo/Primalists, we have to get a grip if we are to provide our own meals by foraging! Thank goodness I am Jane in the year 2012 and following! And thank goodness for the hunters who really use their “catch” at the dinner table, and not just for showing on the wall of their den.
And thank goodness for the leather my shoes are made of! Waste not, want not.