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Note: This is a repost of an article I wrote when I first started FloridaHillbilly.com. I’ve referred back to it multiple times, and feed it is worth revisiting. If you have not read it before, please do so. If you have, read it again, then pass it along to a friend.
We should all be in closer contact with our food, and appreciate the efforts and sacrifice in each bite we take.

I really appreciate my animals. They provide companionship, therapy, and food. In order to return the favor, I do what I can to make sure they live good lives. Unlimited fresh water, protective shade, quality food, and human interaction. I make little edible toys for the rabbits to play with and chew on, I pet and scratch my chickens as well as sneak out tasty bits for them to enjoy, and I talk with them.

Does it make a difference to them? I don’t know. I like to think they appreciate it, or at least come to accept it as part of their “normal” lives. To me, it is the “right” thing to do. They are here because of my actions, therefore they are my responsibility. I won’t say that I love them, or personify them and treat them as though they were like the animals portrayed in a Disney movie. But I do care about their well-being, and their comfort.

I once heard another homesteader speaking about heir animals, and I realized I too felt the same way. She stated that all her animals live a good life, they only have one bad day.

Unfortunately, today three of my rabbits had their one bad day.

Leading up to that point, I’ve spent countless hours researching methods to dispatch them with the least amount of trauma to both them and myself (in that order I might add). Since they will be providing me with wholesome nourishment from their sacrifice, I find that I must do whatever I can to make it as quick and painless as I can manage, without compromising the integrity of the final product.

I’m writing this, not for shock value, but to illustrate how far most of us have been removed from our source of food. Today I looked an animal in the eyes as it looked at me in what I considered a trusting gaze, and I snuffed out its life with the knowledge that it would become food for me. This is not the first time I’ve ever killed something for food, and it will probably not be the last.

I shall continue to do so in order to keep the reality of where my food originates close to me, and to insure that what I consume is of the highest quality. No feedlots, or cramped living quarters, or being processed, chopped up, and converted into a breaded nugget for my food. My food lives a good life, and only has one bad day.

Does yours?

Peace,
db

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