Funeral for a Friend

In a post a while back, I talked about the pain-in-the-ass rooster who crows at my window every morning. Well, last night I ate him.

We had a visitor here for a few days, and for his last night, he decided to buy a chicken for us to share in the office. Little did I know it would be the one that hangs out next door.

Upon finding out, I was confronted with a weird set of emotions. Even though I thought he was hideous and annoying, I had grown accustomed to his morning ritual. I had even enjoyed when he'd grab my crumbs while eating breakfast in the sun on my back steps. Knowing the animal you're eating intimately, knowing what it looked like and how it behaved, makes a strong case for vegetarianism.

But that sort of thing is normal here. Animals are strictly tools and nothing else. Besides, my little friend was delicious.

The same sort of thing happened to me a couple weeks ago. At the Saturday market, I had the unfortunate experience of passing by the slaughtering pen as they were preparing the meat. I'll spare the details, but it was awful, and the cow they were killing looked a lot like Bessie, though I quickly dismissed this association.

Bessie was a brown and white. She often used to graze in the field outside Lupasso, achored to a stake. Once when we were out tossing the frizbee, in my first few days here, it was clear that Bessie (a name I've given her obviously) was really afraid of the flying disc. So I did what you would have done with a dog. I walked up to her slowly, holding the frizbee low for her to smell while I scratched her head. Bessie seemed to love that because afterwards, any time I would pass by, she would trot up to me, pulling hard on her rope, and nestle her head into me, or lick my pants. If you've never been licked by a cow, it's a lot more forceful than a dog's tongue, and much coarser.

Back to the market. I buy meat from a cow that looks awfully like Bessie, and for days after, Bessie is not around to graze. Naturally I was pretty upset, but a week later she turned up again to my relief.

The concept of pets, of having animals around for company, is something people simply can't afford to share here. Animals are expensive, and they are also valuable - owning one is nothing but business.

A few nights ago, I was reading in the living room. Izack was there too, browsing through an Austrian magazine that had been left here. At one page, he stopped me and pointed to a full-page adverstisement. I don't read German, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was about a retirement plan. The picture showed a grey-haired man walking seven or ten dogs of different breeds, being pulled by all his leashes with a huge smile on his face. Izack says, "so this man has BIG dog business!"

How do you explain that no, in fact it was just this man's dream leisure activity? How do you explain the notion of pets when dogs here lie in the dirt outside, their ribs prominent through scaling skin and scrappy fur as they breathe heavily, hoping you will throw them some scraps or drop some crumbs? Or when mud-huts teem with guinea pigs, an eventual source of valuable protein?

Don't be horrified, it seems natural when you're here that guinea pigs would make good food. I'm told they taste pretty good, and with the amount they reproduce, they're perfect for the job.