Mandy

Huntin' season. I hate it.

I mean, I can understand why it exists. If the animals are allowed to reproduce to the point that their environment can't support them, they get sick and die. Starving is a far worse way to thin them out, unless a shot doesn't kill and they have to suffer from it.

Then there are those who actually eat the meat. I can understand hunting for that reason. I've eaten deer meat, but I don't care for the taste or texture. But the reason that I won't eat it again is that deer are cute and I won't eat them.

I won't eat squirrel or rabbit for the same reason. I won't eat veal because the calves are kept confined and pratically immobile so they won't develop muscle mass, and, you guessed it, they're cute. Lamb and mutton, same thing. They're cute.

Beef? If I know the animal it comes from, I won't eat it. Otherwise, I don't have a problem with it because too many cattle stepped on my feet and kicked me in the knee.

I'm having a hard time justifying eating chicken and turkey. On one hand, we had chickens on the farm and they scratched up my flowers and ate the peas just as they were ready to pick. They pooped on everything. The roosters crowed early in the morning. I have no personal affinity for chicken as animals. I don't mind eating chicken and turkey if I don't know where it came from. I know, it's hypocritical.

What bothers me about poultry is the way they're transported to the slaughter houses. They're crammed together in little crates, stacked up on trailers and hauled to the nearest poultry factory. They can sit in those crates on the trailers for hours on end. When it's hot, those in the middle crates don't get enough air circulation. When it's cold, the crates on the outside are exposed to the cold air and any precipitation. Of course they're not given water. By the time they're hauled in, some are already dead. They look so pathetic and miserable. I find myself apologizing to them every time a truck passes. But I still eat chicken and turkey.

Even though I did know a turkey up-close-and-personal.

A few years ago, a turkey fell off--or escaped from--a turkey truck in front of our house. I was living with my daughter and her family at the time; they just happen to be vegetarians. The only vegetarians on the road. And the turkey picked our house as her new home.

She started hanging out in the back yard, sleeping next to the heat pump. We put out water for her and bought corn for her to eat, but she much preferred dog food. We had a couple of dogs in a kennel up against the house, and she'd meet me each time I went to feed and water the dogs. I'd give her some food and she'd be happy.

I named her Mandy. Don't know why; she just looked like a Mandy. Each time I took my little dogs outside, she'd meet me in the yard and walk around me, checking each hand for treats. If I didn't have any, she'd wander off and ignore the dogs.

Around that time I had to have reflux surgery. A few days before the surgery, we had an ice storm and school was closed. I lived upstairs and had a small deck and stairs to the ground, they were icy, but the dogs and Mandy had to be fed.

I started down the stairs carefully; I'd fallen 9 years before and broken my ankle and didn't want to repeat the experience. But I managed to slip and slide down a few steps, spraining my ankle in the process. Dear Mandy rushed up the stairs to me--and pecked at the food I'd dropped. Nice of me to feed her.

After 5 or 6 weeks, our next-door-neighbor, a real anal-retentive type, threatened to kill Mandy if she kept pooping on his newly-blacktopped driveway. This man would wash his driveway several times a week; he couldn't stand to have any dirt or mud--or turkey poop--on it at all.

So, to protect Mandy, we had to find a safer home for her. It's not that easy. We didn't want her to be someone's Christmas dinner; after all, she'd escaped that fate at Thanksgiving, and since she was a pet, she wasn't meant to be food. My daughter called the SPCA and talked to the woman on call, who just happened to be a vegetarian veterinarian who knew of a woman who took in escaped chickens, turkeys, and ducks. My son-in-law and I bundled Mandy into a plastic tub, put her on the front seat of the truck between us, and we drove the 25 miles to the SPCA.

I'll have to find the photos. Mandy sat tall for most of the trip, leaning forward and glaring out the windshield. People had to think we were nuts.

The vet hugged Mandy and told her what a beautiful girl she was. Mandy was used to the attention and took it as her due. I hugged her goodbye, told her that I loved her, and we left.

I still miss Mandy.