I have noticed that as I get older, my tolerance for watching any animal in pain or distress is becoming weaker and weaker. Bill keeps looking at me like I’m a some kind of PETA freak every time I try to catch a fly or moth in the house and release back into the wild also known as our back yard (fly free little moth!) probably only to be eaten by our pet spider, Simon. Simon, of course, is the giant man-eating eight legged fellow that built a super indestructible web over one of our back porch lights. Bill takes great pleasure in watching Simon catch whatever bugs he can in his shining example of spinning mastery, marvelling at how Simon wraps the little bugs up ever so neatly, then sucks the life right out of them. “Isn’t that amazing honey?” he’ll ask me with all the childlike wonder he can muster. I, of course, am sitting in the kitchen crying for the poor bug who lost his life to Simon. Was it scared? It must have been terrified! Did it cry out for it’s mommy? Maybe I should take its poor lifeless body out of the web and give it a proper burial. I probably would, but then Bill would probably have me checked into the psychiatric ward of Prince William Hospital for a mandatory 72 hour “vacation.” I assume that thought has already crossed his mind on any number of occasions. No need to further reinforce it.
I love animals, all kinds of animals. I’d have a farm if I could, although as usual, Bill isn’t really on board with my notions of owning a farm, or a petting zoo. I just want to cuddle all the animals, give them hugs, be their mommy and kiss their boo boos. It matters not whether they have fur or feathers, they are all special to me, and somewhere in my mind, I just know their lives are incomplete without me. Ok, maybe not, but I sure would be the best animal mom EVER. We already have three birds and two dogs, and all of them are blissfully ignorant of the fact that they are actually animals, not our children. I think my daughter often is upset by that fact, and sometimes accuses me of loving them more. Maybe. I don’t have to remind them to clean their room 5000 times a day, or to brush their teeth. And they don’t give me endless amounts of crap in the form of smartass remarks. Usually I ignore her accusation. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
My love for animals has gotten to the point that the thought of becoming a vegetarian is starting to hold a certain appeal for me. I mean, really, who wants to think of the senseless slaughter of innocent animals for the sake of a meal. There are plenty of plants to eat, right? Peanut butter has protein, and it’s not an animal. I love peanut butter. There is only one thing that seems to be standing in my way of making the leap into a meat-free lifestyle…and that one thing is bacon.
I could give up a lot of different carnivorous delights, but bacon is one of those things that is so full of yummy deliciousness that it is hard to imagine life without it. As my daughter said to me when she was four or five, “Mommy, piggies are so cute but they are SO TASTY!” Amen, my sweet child, piggies are indeed one of the tastiest animals to walk the earth.
I could eat bacon on just about anything. In fact, I believe that bacon could be added to just about any dish and it would only make it more delicious. I was always thankful that I’m not Jewish. The whole thought of never eating another BLT, or relishing a bacon and egg breakfast is almost too much to bear. I remember once when I worked in catering for Marriott, someone put ham on the buffet at a bar mitzvah. The chef, who was very French, and very arrogant, was pointedly asked if it was pork. He never even blinked, never flinched. He answered without hesitation, “It’s a specially cured cut of beef.” They ate it. I felt like our whole staff was going straight to hell. Which reminds me, ham…the bastard son of bacon…almost as good but not quite.
I’ve always wondered about those people who buy pot-bellied pigs for pets. While those little critters are truly adorable when they are small, eventually they grow up and look like, bacon - with four hooves.
Here, piggy piggy, stand right here. This won’t hurt a bit. I think I should probably never own a pig of any kind…just sayin.