Revenge Part Deux

In REVENGE! you learned why I feel no guilt eating pork and chicken. But what about beef? What about the bovine made “Gotta have my cow!’’ a motto of mine for years? No, it had nothing to do with shipping bovine seminal vesicles (otherwise known as bull balls) to England for years. I have no idea what they did with them but I feel responsible for thousands of steers during that time.

Let’s start with the Cook County Fair. I think the year was 1960. Mom got to drive the Budweiser team around the race track at Arlington Park. I got to meet Elsie the Cow. Elsie threw up on me. She ruined my day.

I was an exhibitor at the Illinois State Fair two years later. That’s a whole story in itself. A local florist in Palatine, Illinois was glad I was invited. I bought my flowers there. My flower arrangements brought me to the fair. We drove to Springfield in a station wagon that smelled like a funeral home. Checking out the livestock exhibits was the quickest way to wash all that sweet from my nose.

Somewhere between getting there and going home I cuddled sheep, pet rabbits, and got stomped on by a huge Black Angus steer. He must have broken a couple of toes but after my mother’s bout with the medics at the fair, I wasn’t about to let them look at my foot. Some tape from the first-aid kit and a new pair of socks and I was good to go. And go I did. I must have walked about a hundred miles. Think I had a hamburger as my next meal.

Geese are safe but ducks are not. I had a girlfriend who lived on a farm with “watch geese.” The first time I went there, a dozen geese circled the car. I hopped out and my friend yelled, “Get back in the car!” I didn’t listen. Instead I held out my hand and ran it over the head of one goose. Before I knew it, six geese were nuzzling me. The other six were chasing the other three people who had gotten out of the car. My friend, also named Judy, told us the geese had never been friendly with strangers. They watched the farm better than trained dogs.

And ducks? My brother and I got baby “chicks” on Easter that grew into ducks. Dad built an enclosure for them behind the garage. Whenever I went out to feed them, they bit my hands. I’ve been lucky enough to bite back as often as I can find the right chef. The expense? I chalk that up to the price of bandages for the farmers who raised the ducks.

One night during a rain storm the ducks demolished their pen made of chicken wire and lumber poked into the now muddy ground. It was late and Mom and Dad took off hunting our ducks, armed only with flashlights. Our parents returned without our ducks. My brother was heartbroken. I started thinking about planting onions where the duck pen had stood. I didn’t care if they ever brought them home. My I think my brother roamed the neighborhood for the rest of the week searching for his duck, Coca-Cola, and mine, Ducky-Lucky. I sensed the truth the Sunday following the great duck escape. Mom said it was pheasant. I knew better. My only question was which duck we were eating.

I do feel guilty eating some animal protein. I grew up eating lamb. It was always a special dinner for me. Then I met some sheep. They were warm and soft and cuddly. The lanolin in their fur made my hands feel so good. Best of all, they were friendly. I think my diet went lambless for five years after spending Fourth of July in a livestock trailer with a timid little lamb. (No, its fleece was not white as snow. Sort of gray actually.)

How do I justify the Thanksgiving turkey? Don’t think I’ll be doing that for a while. When I did, it was simple. If imagining a turkey, nude and roasted, as a giant evil chicken doesn’t work; listing examples of turkey intelligence should do it. Have you ever heard that turkeys drown during rain storms because they run through the rain staring at the sky? Don’t believe it. They suffocate themselves by huddling together so tight they can’t breathe. If an animal ever earned the right to be dinner, it’s Ben Franklin’s favorite fowl, the turkey.

While we’re talking meat, have you ever tried alligator? You should. It’s delicious. Besides, it’s scary, ugly, and could kill you. No need to feel any guilt. Besides, you could make luggage with some of what’s left.

Tofu burgers, anyone?