In “Just taking out the trash,” Christina Childs of the Weatherford Democrat recounts her visit to a sale barn, the colloquial, hometown cousin of the livestock auction wherein the hooved elderly, ill, injured, and unwanted find a layover before the knockdown. “Taking an animal to a sale barn,” she writes, “is a way to pass the buck of owner responsibility. Instead of leaving your animal in the hotel of horrors only to go to slaughter, take it there yourself — have that compassion at least.”
Compassion assumes a recognition and acknowledgment of intrinsic value, beyond that which is self-serving or tasty. Compassion dictates a quick and painless end to suffering. Theirs, not yours. Delivering your still-breathing burden to the ramp of death’s door, on the other hand, just requires a seller’s number and a peculiar brand of follow-through.
“No animal, no matter its intended use, should be made to suffer the horrendous injustices I witnessed, and I believe it is fair to say they are not the first, nor will they be the last.”
For the most part she’s right. But you can still prove her wrong on one count. Say, “Enough!” and mean it.
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