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I've never done it, but I already know I don't like killing and/or torturing animals. Plants I can carve to pieces without a second thought, but I've never killed anything larger than a fish---(which was a long time ago on a trip with my dad. I was a kid and I enjoyed spending the time with him, but I could have done without the fishing. There's not much to do until you catch something... but then you have to kill it... I don't know... not my thing.) And I would never go hunting. If you want to that's fine, I won't think less of you ... but I just don't have the stomach for it.
I can't condemn hunters and fishermen because I enjoy eating meat. I'm not about to join PETA, though, not even close. But I can't look an animal in the eyes and pull the trigger. Then again... if you're willing to slaughter a pig and sell me some bacon I won't think twice about it. I guess I'm inconsistent that way.
Even when it comes to household pests I'm somewhat inconsistent. I will catch mice with non-violent traps and put them outside in the back field rather than kill them. But spiders and flies receive no mercy. I kill them without hesitation, just as often as I can find them. I don't feel bad about it either. It seems like the more intelligent the animal, the more I care about it. I get annoyed at cats and dogs making noise and pooping everywhere, but I could never get myself to hurt one. I might scare it away or something, but I could never actually hurt it. I just couldn't do it. I don't even think about it. That may be true for most people, but I've always had a semi-weird respect for life. Including even worms.
Worms are gross and worthless, and you probably stab hooks into them to help you kill fish, that's your business. But I remember, as a kid walking to Lake Ridge elementary, feeling bad for some I found dying on the sidewalk so I picked them up and threw them onto someone's yard so they could survive. And that memory reminds me of the first time I betrayed someone... my friends.
I was at the Mecham's house, very near my own home. It seems like in my youngest years I spent half my time over there playing in the yard with my then best friend Matt Mecham. The first of a dynasty of unrelated Matts who would become best friends. We played all kind sof games, had snowball fights, climbed the treehouse, all kinds of stuff. Well, one day, I went over there and found Matt with his older brother Mark in the sandbox below the treehouse. Mark had six or seven friends with him, all at least three years older than Matt and me. And we must have been six or maybe even younger. very, very young.
"Come on over and play." They invited me. So I did, curious to see what they were all huddling over.
"Look what we've got," they pulled out a box of matches. And instantly I had flashbacks of my parents and teachers telling me how bad matches were. I couldn't believe we were going to be playing with matches, that was like breaking a commandment!
But I was intimidated, so I didn't say anything. I wanted them to like me, but my conflicted six-year old conscience knew we shouldn't have them. But I stayed quiet, watching as they pulled out a container of worms.
I don't remember how the conversation went, but before long they'd scraped smooth a sort of execution plateu in the sand and started burning the worms with the matches. I just hated to see it, and I think they noticed how squimish I was because they asked me to go to the driveway and be the look out. Let them know if any adults come over. I accepted the assignment and went away. But I didn't want to be party to the worm-torturing so I snuck into the house and ratted them out. They got busted, and it was pretty obvious how the adults found out. This hurt my six-year-old reputation, I was now a tattle-tale, but my parents were proud.
I would have let it go had they not been burning worms. But, I dunno why, I guess I just hate seeing suffering.
I've never done it, but I already know I don't like killing and/or torturing animals. Plants I can carve to pieces without a second thought, but I've never killed anything larger than a fish---(which was a long time ago on a trip with my dad. I was a kid and I enjoyed spending the time with him, but I could have done without the fishing. There's not much to do until you catch something... but then you have to kill it... I don't know... not my thing.) And I would never go hunting. If you want to that's fine, I won't think less of you ... but I just don't have the stomach for it.
I can't condemn hunters and fishermen because I enjoy eating meat. I'm not about to join PETA, though, not even close. But I can't look an animal in the eyes and pull the trigger. Then again... if you're willing to slaughter a pig and sell me some bacon I won't think twice about it. I guess I'm inconsistent that way.
Even when it comes to household pests I'm somewhat inconsistent. I will catch mice with non-violent traps and put them outside in the back field rather than kill them. But spiders and flies receive no mercy. I kill them without hesitation, just as often as I can find them. I don't feel bad about it either. It seems like the more intelligent the animal, the more I care about it. I get annoyed at cats and dogs making noise and pooping everywhere, but I could never get myself to hurt one. I might scare it away or something, but I could never actually hurt it. I just couldn't do it. I don't even think about it. That may be true for most people, but I've always had a semi-weird respect for life. Including even worms.
Worms are gross and worthless, and you probably stab hooks into them to help you kill fish, that's your business. But I remember, as a kid walking to Lake Ridge elementary, feeling bad for some I found dying on the sidewalk so I picked them up and threw them onto someone's yard so they could survive. And that memory reminds me of the first time I betrayed someone... my friends.
I was at the Mecham's house, very near my own home. It seems like in my youngest years I spent half my time over there playing in the yard with my then best friend Matt Mecham. The first of a dynasty of unrelated Matts who would become best friends. We played all kind sof games, had snowball fights, climbed the treehouse, all kinds of stuff. Well, one day, I went over there and found Matt with his older brother Mark in the sandbox below the treehouse. Mark had six or seven friends with him, all at least three years older than Matt and me. And we must have been six or maybe even younger. very, very young.
"Come on over and play." They invited me. So I did, curious to see what they were all huddling over.
"Look what we've got," they pulled out a box of matches. And instantly I had flashbacks of my parents and teachers telling me how bad matches were. I couldn't believe we were going to be playing with matches, that was like breaking a commandment!
But I was intimidated, so I didn't say anything. I wanted them to like me, but my conflicted six-year old conscience knew we shouldn't have them. But I stayed quiet, watching as they pulled out a container of worms.
I don't remember how the conversation went, but before long they'd scraped smooth a sort of execution plateu in the sand and started burning the worms with the matches. I just hated to see it, and I think they noticed how squimish I was because they asked me to go to the driveway and be the look out. Let them know if any adults come over. I accepted the assignment and went away. But I didn't want to be party to the worm-torturing so I snuck into the house and ratted them out. They got busted, and it was pretty obvious how the adults found out. This hurt my six-year-old reputation, I was now a tattle-tale, but my parents were proud.
I would have let it go had they not been burning worms. But, I dunno why, I guess I just hate seeing suffering.
