Tugging the Teat

I got in the milk argument today.

Dairy cows often have better lives than cattle destined for slaughter. The picturesque scene of cows eating green grass under a bright blue Californian sun is a myth, but they do at least get fed more naturally than feedlot cattle, and get to spend more time being bovines. I am always going to be in favor of situations that allow a production animal to live a life that allows for all of their natural behaviors. Dairy cows come closer to this ideal than feedlot cattle – which I have always been against. In my animal science studies at University of California Davis I got to spend several months at the dairy barn learning the ins and outs of the milk production process. It was interesting. And it was fun. And it was disturbing. Humans are addicted to their milk, but very few have any idea of how it is processed before it gets into that carton they pull off their superstore shelf.

I don't drink milk. If I could say I don't drink milk purely on principle, I would, but the honest truth is that I was allergic to milk as a child. I would break out in a rash every time I ate dairy products and so I avoided dairy products. Milk is something that you have to acquire a taste for – as a child who never drank milk, the taste of dairy products like milk and ice cream are repulsive to me. I do like cheese, though my tastes run towards the well-aged salty cheeses or sheep and goat milk cheeses. Ironically I could eat cheese as a child because it has already been partially digested by the bacteria and I reacted less to it. I have a strong suspicion that it wasn't the milk itself I was allergic to, but the chemicals and additives put in milk to pasteurize and clean it. Because I grew up in such an organic home-grown type of household my digestive system cannot tolerate foreign chemicals and hormones in my food. Feedlot meat makes me ill. But I can eat a huge beef hamburger of high-quality grass-fed free-range meat and feet great. It disturbs me that people not only acquire a taste for these artificial additives to their milk and meat, but that they sometimes prefer it. Like MSG (something else that makes me sick), to some people it just tastes good, even though it is an awful thing to put in your body.

When it comes to dairy milk I am baffled by people's need to drink it. There is no proof that it helps children grow faster or stronger (I have never broken a bone), and quite a bit of proof that milk is not easily digested or used by the human body. Could people be confusing the importance of a child getting his mother's milk with continuing to drink milk through childhood?

Some that are against the use of dairy cows will also mention that their calves often go to slaughter (veal is a popular option). Sometimes the female calves are kept as replacements on a dairy farm of course, but by in large this is true. I always loved spending time with the calves at the dairy barn. Had I known that they were going to meat, but in the meantime they would get to live as bovines should with room to move and ruminate and be free from chemicals I would not have been sad at their parting. The knowledge that they might be put into a feedlot type setting disgusted me. Luckily most of the UCD calves were kept in fields on the periphery of the university where they could live decent bovine lives until slaughtered. No animal should have to live in conditions like those found in a feedlot. And I certainly don't want to eat an animal that has lived in those conditions!

My general argument is this: eat what you will, but know where it comes from. Know that your food choices may be polluting the environment and your body. Know that your choices contribute to the suffering of another sentient being. If you know where it comes from and it is someplace like a feedlot or an industrialized dairy farm, then ask yourself why it's okay to make these animals suffer so that you can have a luxury (we don't need beef or milk).

And if you don't care because you feel that animals are less important than you as a human being, then I recommend you open your eyes. The cattle we eat and the milk we drink comes from beings as emotionally complicated as any human.

What makes humans better?

I’m sick of hearing that animals can’t have rights because you like to eat them.

I have nothing against animals being eaten—humans are omnivores and are built to consume animal protein as well as a variety of other foods. What bothers me is the lack of respect for the non-human animals we keep. If anyone has seen cattle feedlots or the animals that are abused and neglected as property you know what I mean.

What is this “right” that humans intrinsically have over non-humans? I used the dictionary to clarify my terms:

Right
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English riht, from riht, adjective
Date: before 12th century
1: qualities (as adherence to duty or obedience to lawful authority) that together constitute the ideal of moral propriety or merit moral approval

2: something to which one has a just claim: as a: the power or privilege to which one is justly entitled b (1): the interest that one has in a piece of property —often used in plural (2)plural : the property interest possessed under law or custom and agreement in an intangible thing especially of a literary and artistic nature

3: something that one may properly claim as due

4: the cause of truth or justice

Let’s put each of these definitions into context. The first definition relates to phrases like “you’re right”, as in I’m correct. With no situational context given to us it’s hard to determine moral rightness. In fact, even if we did have a situation, could we really label actions that a human does as “right” outside of the laws our species imposes on us? To do the opposite and impose ideas of moral rightness on a non-human who does not share our society or concerns is anthropomorphism—the giving of human qualities to a non-human animal or vice versa (a Disney animal is anthropomorphized because it can talk, for example).

The second definition is similar, but relates to entitlement. For instance: “in the United States I have the right of freedom of speech”. Good for me! But the definition goes deeper than that by indicating that the claim must be just. Once again there is a moral stint to this word. Now what just claims does an animal have? In human society, as a human, they would have certain rights. Even the mentally retarded have some rights in some societies, so a non-human's supposed lesser intelligence cannot be what sets them apart. What sets them apart is simply that they are not human. I have no problem with this perception because I think that anthropomorphizing non-human animals does them a great disservice. What I have a problem with is the idea that not human somehow means that they have no inherent rights.

The last two definitions are variations on the theme. But I would like to point out something interesting about the wording in the third definition: “Something that one may properly claim as due”. I think this is where you could argue that non-human animals don’t have rights—it’s because they can’t properly claim their dues, because, of course, they can’t speak human. I would argue against that by saying that non-human animals have a lot to tell us in their own ways, but most humans do not bother to notice. And how can they? The animals they see are wrapped in cellophane long before they are grilled and washed down with cold beer. Or they live in our houses, with us, as pets. And pets have been domesticated—they have adapted to living with humans—so the gap in communication should be even less. But is it? There is strong evidence that our domesticated animals have evolved means to communicate better with their humans— for instance both dogs and cats have become more vocal then their wild counterparts. I think we have the means inside us to communicate more intimately with animals, especially with our domesticated partners, but social standards prevent most of us from doing so. It’s the idea that they are somehow less important, with no natural rights, that seems to lead people to this conclusion. Non-human equals no rights. Its how Western culture has raised us (I can’t speak for cultures I don’t belong to, but from what I’ve seen and hear this is a culturally universal trait).

So why don’t animals get respect? Why does abuse and neglect happen and go unpunished? Why do we use non-human animals like they are things? Go ahead and argue that humans have to look out for their own—I will counter right back and say that, if that’s true, then why are we better than non-humans? If that was the case then we are selfish, shortsighted, and blind to the world around us. I have heard these traits attached to non-humans as a reason that they are not better than us. And honestly, can we even attach these traits to anyone without knowing them and their motives?

The argument that they are less intelligent is also faulty. The mentally retarded are less intelligent and human-centric folks will still argue that they have as much value as an intelligent individual. Also—we are anthropomorphizing again when we say they are less intelligent. Yes, you can argue that they have less of the human-type of intelligence. Good for them! But I bet I don’t have any wolf-intelligence or centipede-intelligence. There are quite a few things that these species excel at that I haven’t a hope of puzzling through even with my huge brain. I could even bring in example of non-humans that DO seem to have a type of intelligence comparable to a human. I knew someone with a scarlet macaw who could not only speak English, but knew a supposition from a noun from a verb. He would correct or puzzle over the way this woman’s six year old stepdaughter spoke because she wasn’t very proper. How did he learn this? His owner was an English teacher and writer, who would read her work out to him and self-correct things out loud. He was a fast learner. He also could differentiate himself from the crowd (I think all mammals and birds, at the very least, can do this). Once, while his owner was cooking he asked “Sammy help stir?” and when his owner approved he flew down to help stir the pasta with his beak. So Sammy could bridge the gap, and that’s amazing. But non-human animals are bridging that gap all the time and most people aren’t aware of it.

I personally know that non-human bird and mammals at least (I don’t have in depth experience with other groups) are more complex emotionally than any human.

But it shouldn’t be an issue of who is better in any respect. Every species, every individual, has their strengths and their weaknesses. Who should have intrinsic rights? Every individual—no matter what race, religion, gender or species should have the ability to live well. And by living well I don’t mean not being eaten—that’s a natural life process. What I do mean is that you should have the ability to fight or flee when the threat of being eaten is upon you. Or have land to roam and unpolluted greens to eat. Basically to live within you realm of choices, and have your realm of choices include what’s natural for you. A house cat will probably want to live in a house and be fed two meals a day. Sammy, the scarlet macaw, was born and raised in captivity. But because macaws are not domesticated, if he had been born in the wild his forest home may have been natural for him. He might have flourished there but been devastated if captured to be a pet. There are so many situations that we impose on non-humans that they can’t adapt too. A wolf cannot live in a cage and eat cellophane-meat. His choices in that situation do not include what is natural. And natural is good.

I understand non-humans in a way: I don’t live within a sphere that’s natural for me. But I DO have the choice to pursue what is good for me. It’s a struggle, and who knows if I will get their in the end, but at least I have the right.

Why I ride—the selfish version of events.

There’s something really fantastic about the way horses smell. I love pressing my face into my horse’s side and drawing in a deep breath. The smell of her calls up visions of sweeping grass, wet dirt and the sheen of clean sweat on her body as she runs. This memory-connection I have in my brain sends a shiver of delight down my spine every time. Those smells, sights, sounds and the feeling of a powerful steed moving underneath you are all behind my associations of "freedom".

I first felt "free" on the back of a horse. It was a moment when we were running and something clicked inside me: I could feel that equine power coursing through ever sinew and muscle of my body, energizing me. That feeling of physical ease and confidence is something I can never get in my own awkward human body. I get the feeling that horses live closer to the earth (and further from it) than any human ever could. And it’s an addiction. Those of us who ride for this reason—the search for being complete and connected —don’t get this feeling every time we ride. But that does not mean we stop searching for it. It's one of the reasons I ride Dressage, which at the sport's best, focuses on rider-horse connection. And when we do have those moments it makes our lives better from that moment forward.

For me there are some individuals in which this feeling is easy to find. There was one horse whom I knew in two different situations—one in the Trinity Alps, and one in this sordid dust-choked town in central California. She was nothing special to look at and had no competitive talents, but she knew me intimately from the moment I climbed on her big broad back. As romanticized as that sounds, a horse that knows you isn’t going to do everything you ask with the lightest touch. This horse was lazy and as stubborn as she was smart—not difficult to ride, just difficult to understand and get fine-tuned control out of her.

Now, there were days when I was deep in the hole, feeling like the world was pressing me down so that I squished into the cracks in the concrete, in which I could hop on this particular horse and fly away. It wasn’t allowed, but I would close my eyes, give her a loose rein, and she would canter on and on. The steady drum of her hooves and the movement of my own body in concert with her would free me from all my hurt.

Horses ground me and lift me up simultaneously. The smell of their sweaty bodies and the sound of the muffled shrunch of them eating their hay, reminds me of better days when I could see the world with the same clarity that a horse does. My horse reminds me that when things are bad and I can't take one breath without anxiety filling my lungs I need to just stop and be a horse.

Someday I will have land, and on that land I will make a place for the horses. Not just for my horse, who is going to be with me for the remainder of her natural life, but for other horses that need help being horses again because of the abuse and neglect they have suffered under human hands. We humans are not humane, but I think I can help heal some of the damage my fellows have done on the non-human people we consider property. Horses are complex creatures—socially, physically and mentally. But what they want is the same as any person — to be healthy, to have friends, to have food, water and space to run. In other words: freedom.

Human senses, and what's nonsensical.

I was wondering the other day if everyone has a particular dislike for a sound, sight, feeling, taste or smell. Do they know what their dislike is and is it ingrained in their genetics or part of their history? Do all humans have an aversion to certain experiences?

Everyone dislikes certain foods, so it’s easy to assume that taste is the sense that is easily defined under the qualifications of “good” and “bad”. Smell is related to taste. You can assume that if something smells rancid, it is going to taste rancid. Logically we can assume that all humans have a dislike for smells or tastes of things that are not good for us to eat. Evolutionarily this would be a very good idea! Of course, there are certain things I loathe to smell or taste that other people seem more than willing to. Cigar or joint smoke, for one, makes me want to hurl. And yet I like the smell of turpentine. This interest me because it begs the question—do I not like smokers or smoking because the smell disgusts me? Or do I have an aversion to the smell because I dislike smoking? Perhaps I even enjoy the smell of turpentine because I associate it with painting.

And what about sounds? Is there a sound that has a universal reaction of dislike or fear from humans? For me it’s babies. I can’t stand the sounds they make—and this includes their bubbling and their laughter, not just their screaming. When a baby cries I expect they are being so irritating because they want someone to soothe them right away, and mothers that soothed their children instead of killing them (like I probably would) would be more likely to pass on their genes. I doubt I could conclude that a baby screaming is found as universally disgusting because of this.

Evolutionarily you might expect ancestral humans to find the sound of a predator snarling frightening. To me the snarling would be frightening only if I thought it was going to lead to pain—it’s only a method of communication to me and I’m not afraid of it at all. The counterargument of that is that babies are also communicating when they “talk” (how could their noises ever be considered “talking”?); to me a snarl is much more effective than blowing spit bubbles.

It also makes my skin crawl to see a baby’s pink wet mouth and sausage-limbs waving, so there is a clear overlap in my sense-dislike there. Thankfully I’ve only had the bad luck to hold a baby once, but my impression was the same: disgust.

Again, there is a discord between what I find disgusting and what the majority of humanity find disgusting. I enjoy looking at spiders and have no problem with snakes (in fact I love both groups!), but human children make me want to run away and hide.

In conclusion? Babies are gross. Oh, and I don’t think sense-dislike is universal, though I could see such things being a bell curve. Unless we are talking about claustrophobia I’d probably be on the extreme ends of that bell curve.

The Human Problem

I have a serious problem with humanity. It is a problem that I feel we all have, and need to fix if we want to survive ourselves. I recognize that writing this will label me as a hypocrite in many eyes—no less because I enjoy my indoor plumbing and gas stove. Over my limited years of life I have made many observations of how people work and operate in their world and out of it. The conclusions I have come to are not always well-formed or complete thoughts, but they are conclusions just the same. I’m going to make an argument that humans aren’t natural, because we have severed our ties with nature.

Bear with me. Think on these things yourself. If you think I am wrong, argue your case.

My first observation: we don’t know where anything comes from anymore. The children I have taught don’t know where that steak they had for dinner came from, they don’t know where the water comes from when they turn on the hose, or the textbooks they lug to school each day. What is more horrifying is that they don’t care.

Why has nature become something that we have to drive to? At what point did humanity become separate from the natural world, and why would this be desirable?

I think the root is in the fact that history has set us up this way. If Anthropology 101 taught me anything, it was that agriculture drastically changed the course of human culture. Before agriculture was popularized we were hunter-gatherers. There were not many of us (limited food meant a finite number of children survived) but all fossil indications point to a robust and healthy kind of man. As an aside, the remains of hunter-gather women have been found with injuries likely sustained in hunts. This kind of lifestyle was difficult but rewarding—we still existed within in the natural law and those individuals who were fit were more likely to produce young.

With the advent of agriculture we started living in large stationary groups and our population burgeoned with the increased but unvaried food supply. When people aren’t starving more tend to survive, even if said children aren’t fit, because such a society allows for radical specialization of talents.

Allow me to postulate with the help of an example: a family of agricultural people lives with several other family groups—their large groups size becoming more of a necessity as more people need to be fed and protected from bands of other people trying to steal their goods. With this stationary lifestyle, the “town” begins to evolve. Women, who are not useful to work in the fields while pregnant, begin to take on more responsibility towards the children, sick and old. The divide between genders widens. Because the old and the crippled are more likely to live now that their caretakers have the time and the advantage of not being on the move, they can contribute to caring for the young even more, so even the sick survive to breed.

However (fossil evidence supports this) because of agriculture, people are now eating one or two types of food instead of the varied diet they had as hunter-gatherers. Physiologically, humans are built for that varied diet of plants and meat, and they suffer under the new diet. Bone density goes down, illness and plague run rampant (also a symptom people living in close proximity), and everyone is generally more unhealthy. Still, there is plenty of food to go around, and they continue to breed despite being far unhealthier than their hunter-gatherer counterparts. In the end they out-compete the hunter-gatherers because there are more of them.

This sets the stage for the rest of human history. Even in situations where there weren’t “more” of us, we steamroller everything because our technology gives us power beyond ourselves. The natural population controls are fought against. The advent of war, which came hand-in-hand with agriculture (we had territory to defend), is a bloody compromise.

Repeat this pattern throughout the years and eventually humans are able to separate themselves from their natural roots, at least in an illusionary sense. Today we don’t even have to watch the weather as it pertains to our crops. Agriculture has been evolving too, and we have been moving away from the natural order as we follow it. This drive is fueled by the need to fuel our biomass, which continues to grow.

Agriculture was a step back from nature because, to a certain degree, we protected ourselves from the ebb and flow of natural patterns by being able to store food and protect ourselves with our numbers. As hunter-gatherers, our adaptation to this would have been to be nomadic and dynamic to the natural fluxes—and yes, people would have died. But death is part of the natural order.

In conclusion, this process has drawn us away from our ties with the land. Through technology and advanced farming techniques the land has become something we farm, something we live on, not with. Our fear of global warming is warranted, because we fear things bigger than ourselves (perhaps another explanation for the population surge?). I don’t think it is a fear or horror at what we might have done—the responsibility lies with a faceless other and not individuals to most of us. I think this is another symptom of our separation that we cannot recognize how everything we do affects the world around us. Multiply that by six billion? Well, I’m sure you can guess where my thoughts on that lie. In a hunter-gatherer society, such selfish and unnatural ways of living would have killed you outright. Today, the consequences are the same, but drawn out over a longer period. The stakes are higher though, because now we are destroying the livelihood of every other living thing on Earth.

But, as one of the children I taught said (with a smile on his face): “I want to go out with a bang!”

He was the one whose parents packed him pre-cut-and-packaged apples in his lunch. He didn't even eat them.

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