While working as an intern at Farm Sanctuary in the fall
of 1997, I had several opportunities to visit a stockyard. They are
noisy, smelly buildings, but I was excited about going because I would
finally see what I used to contribute to as a meat eater. And I could
use this experience to educate others.
The first stockyard I went to was located in Upstate New
York. I went with two other interns. We stopped off at a burger joint
before pulling in to the stockyards and bought some soda and some fries.
After eating, we put the camera into the empty fast food bag. Our
"disguise" complete, we went to the 'yards. It was a small building,
smaller than I'd expected. We strolled around the grounds in front where
people were selling just about anything they could get their hands on,
it seemed. One of the interns even bought an old water pump, to "blend
in," so to speak. In case we were questioned, we had a story: My friends
were getting married (I was their cousin from Chicago who'd "never seen
a stockyard before!"), and wanted to buy a goat to "chew down the
brambles in the yard." We walked in and asked someone where the goats
were being sold, only to be told the goats weren't going to be there
until a few days later. We got a lot of strange looks from the people
there, so we felt it best to just leave. We walked around a bit longer,
looking for a downer pile. The most we saw was a few trucks pull in with
calves in the back. The mission was a failure.
I'd say about a month later, the intern coordinator told
us she was taking us to another stockyard. I had more confidence in this
mission, as she was experienced in these matters, having gone to
stockyards on numerous occasions. This time it was me, four other
interns, and the intern coordinator. I had no idea what I was in for,
but I knew it wasn't going to be good.
After arriving at the stockyard, we sat in on an
auction. They were selling everything from dolls to bubble gum. We got
tired of that, so we made our way to the calf auction. I sat down in
chairs about three our four feet away from a fence. Behind that we could
see dozens of small, frightened calves. When the auction started, an old
man in back would strike the calves with a thick pole to get them
moving. Two other men in the "viewing area" would scare the calf back
and forth so we could get a good look at them. Every now and then a
farmer would signal, and one of the men would smash the calf up against
the fence. The farmer would reach through and feel the calf's underside.
After a calf was "done," it was prodded off to the side
and led through a door leading to rows of holding pens. If a calf was
confused or so frightened that it ran away, it was shocked with an
electric cattle prod. The old man in the back would yell and bash the
calves in the ribs or head to get them to stand up and move. They
weren't treated like living, feeling beings.
The worst part was when a crippled calf was beaten into
the viewing area. His front legs were damaged somehow so that he
couldn't walk on his hooves. Rather, he stumbled forward on his
"ankles." They showed no mercy. The farmer next to me laughed and
shouted, "Throw him onto the pile!" The calf looked around wildly, and
caught my eye. Broken is the only word I can use to describe what I saw
looking back at me. Then he was kicked and prodded through the door,
where he collapsed outside a stall. A man yelled and kicked him until he
managed to drag himself into a pen. It took everything I had to restrain
myself.
After the calf auction, we wandered around, looking for
a down pile or any sick/injured animals laying around. We saw half a
dozen pigs in one holding pen, and one of them was bleeding out of his
rectum. We asked a man what was wrong with the pig and he said, "Oh,
he's got a ruptured anus. Most the animals in these pens have something
wrong with them, but they'll be sold for food anyway." Another pig had a
bloody stump where his tail used to be. I can't imagine the pain these
animals were feeling.
We never found any downed animals that day, and I left
feeling defeated. Although I haven't eaten meat in eight years and dairy
in four years, I'm glad I finally went to see where meat really comes
from. I saw the faces behind the food I used to eat. And when someone
asks me why I bother, I remember that crippled calf. And there's not a
doubt in my mind I'm doing the right thing. This is forever.
Go on to
Introduction to Vegetarianism
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