I slaughtered my first animal this week. A dairy goat kid which was supposed to be taken out like almost all of them. Because there’s no place for male and many female goat kids in the dominant dairy system.
No place, no value.
We walk calmly through the straw pen in which the herd is staying over the winter. Munching on hay, ruminating, or playing while the kids are mostly sleeping.
I have been in slaughterhouses before. Even in the most humane the animals know, smell that something is off.
Here all is calm.
The farmer and I are going through all steps together. He is guiding me, making sure nothing gets lost in my clumsy first time.
In-between I have to stop. Not because it’s too much. Rather, I realize I don’t feel weird at all.
There is a sense of completeness.
The moment is filled with appreciation towards life in a system that does not value life.
We value every part in closing this cycle.
The thighs are now roasting in the oven.
The carcass is boiling on the stove for nurturing broth.
The organs are more than appreciated by our dog and cats.
And the hide is waiting in the freezer for the right tanning tools.
My whole day is following a different heartbeat. I’m deeply grateful.
This life has been a gift.
From one to many.
