Today I Became Dairy-Free

Walking Lila on our usual route, I encountered something unusual. As our typical route takes us beside a dairy farm, the presence of cows is typical. The location of this cow, however, was not. She was outside the pasture fence.

"Oh, no," I thought, "She must have gotten out somewhere." I started to approach her, thinking I would find a way to use mildly-cow-phobic Lila to help herd her back into her pasture.

She didn't move right away on my approach. I wondered, "Is she tied out? Is she having a calf? Maybe she is having some vet procedure today, and needs to be easy to get to." She was lying down, and these all seemed reasonable possibilities.

As I got closer, she heaved her enormous body in an attempt to stand. It was then that I realized that she could not get up. "Has she hurt a leg?" I thought. I mentally cringed in anticipation of some kind of bloody, mangled mess. Still, it made sense to isolate a cow with a hurt leg, rather than allow her to be jostled and further injured by her fellow bovines.

I was still operating under the assumption that I wanted to believe: that she was tied out.

Reaching her, I found that my assumption was wrong. I didn't want to believe what I was seeing. Back legs tied together with twine. One side caked with mud, from face to rump. Bloody scrapes on the muddy side. And, most awful of all, tire tracks around her.

"Maybe she fell while they were delivering her? Maybe there is a single hand here today, who can't lift her, but didn't want her to run off while he tended to all the other chores, and he'll come out to take care of her in a bit." I really didn't want to believe what I was seeing.

What I was seeing looked like maybe they brought her to the back field, tied her back feet, and hit her with the truck.

But this farm always had the nicest looking cows! They were always clean, well-kept, and apart from the general structural breakdown the Holstein breed is experiencing, were fine-looking animals. The farm is generally exceptional tidy. These two qualities always made this farm seem a lovely contrast to the generally run-down, dirty, ill-kempt animals and farm properties I have, over the past 30 years, come to associate with Amish farming practices.

Yes, cows are, by nature, skittish animals, I grant you. However, it's me. Cows are curious animals, and if you communicate the idea that you are not a threat, generally, they are far more social than most city slickers probably realize. I have been licked by many cows. This cow, was traumatized. Her breathing was rapid. Before I even laid a hand on her, she tried to move away from me.

I touched her gently, slowly increasing pressure as I massaged the soreness I imagined that laying still for so long had probably caused, she began to relax. I used my nails to "nibble" her neck, like cow friends do to one another, and she relaxed even more. I leaned into her body, and she leaned back into mine. "Ah," I thought, "we're ok." And in my pride, I patted her neck with my open palm.

I may as well have shocked her. She leapt from the sensation, but bound by the twine, could go nowhere. I continued to work her, and then just crouched beside her. I knew she was doing ok when I saw the cows back at the barn stop staring at us and go back about their regular cow business, whatever that is.

Still, I just didn't want to think what I was thinking.

I called the police and reported a loose cow. I thought, "Well, if I am mistaken, they'll see what is going on here." Two hours later, sunset, 40 degree temps, the cow is still there, I note that she is mildly dehydrated, and the farm is still deserted.

I announced to my mother, "Of all the things I thought I'd get arrested for, this never made the list." I have, I admit, rather frequent misanthropic fantasies, and our joke is that I'll get arrested for following through one day. (I've never been arrested. I was a straight-A student.) I actually considered stealing a cow. I saw her standing in my parents' garage. (My parents who can't have a dog in the house because it's "dirty"?)

I called the Humane Officer, and mentioned the possibility that this was a cow who needed to be euthanized. She introduced the conclusion my mind did not want to accept. "Sounds like maybe they dragged her." she said. Instantly, I realized that I should have (as is almost always the case) trusted my instinct.

Today, I am done with dairy. As an enormous fan of dairy, and dairy products, this is a sacrifice. I'm not an extremist. In theory, there is nothing so inherently evil in keeping cows or drinking their milk. In fact, one of my dreams is to have a Jersey cow and/or goat of my own, whose milk I'd drink! I don't think they mind terribly, provided they are well-looked after, basically large pets, I guess, and that they aren't separated from their offspring, drugged, milked by machines, or otherwise mistreated.

However, the practical reality of what my money supports when I purchase milk and milk-derived products from the grocery store? What I saw today was obviously not a first. This was not the first dragged cow. And this is probably not the worst of what happens.

I think we probably all assume that the worst happens on large-scale farms, because many of us have a mental image of large soul-less corporations being uncaring. However, when it comes to animal husbandry, I can't imagine the large, adequately staffed, state-of-the-art operations engaging in what I saw today. I suspect someone wanted to avoid the cost associated with proper euthanasia.

And, I bet that it is mid-size operations that are most guilty of the worst offenses. Small-scale operations give their cows names. (Sometimes they even write it on the cow's ID tags.) Large scale operations find it more economical in the grand scheme of things to do things properly.

But unless I know the name of the cow from which the milk came? Well, Nicole is done with dairy. I cannot cause what I saw today.

What stopped me (before today) from this decision is a common human cognitive foible. Humans have, by nature, a bias for optimism. Daniel Gilbert does an excellent job of exploring this idea in his book, "Stumbling on Happiness". Our brain's "immune system", as he describes it, depends on our ability to put a positive spin on just about anything.

And, so, our brains simply don't want to believe that dairy operations involve what they do. Behold the power of cheese! We love cheese. More importantly, _I_ love cheese. With the possible exceptions of cottage cheese and cheesecake, both of whom, I feel, besmirch the reputation of cheese as being universally delicious, I have not found a cheese I didn't like. This brain, like most, simply doesn't want to accept information that results in a diminished cheese consumption!

Believing that such practices are anomalous, not the norm, (and when we look at a typical day on one or two or a dozen farms) we can justify not giving up the dairy.

A sweet, sensitive creature, whose only "sin" was to become ill was traumatized by being dragged across the farm. She had no idea what was happening to her, why, or what would happen next. She had no choice. And, she trusted. She could have kicked a few idiots in the head, but submitted to gruesome, awful, senseless, compassion-less treatment. (I hope she did, though, obviously, she'd not be able to do much damage to any heads on THAT farm. . .)

Did I mention how much I "love" the so-called "good Christian folk"? Let me proclaim, now and forever, that you can do such heinous things with impunity while Jesus is watching, since he only requires you to be kind to humans (or other Christian humans, is it? or politically influential Christian humans? I guess that varies) but don't let it happen while I am watching.

Rice and beans, anyone?