Vegan lifestyle articles that discuss ways of living in peace with humans, animals, and the environment.
Renee King-Sonnen,
Rowdy Girl
Sanctuary as posted on
T. Colin Campbell Center for Nutrition Studies
October 2016
How did we ever think that loading up the babies and taking them to the sale barn was ever “the right thing to do”? How did we ever think that the wailing grief of all those momma’s crying for their stolen babies was “normal”? How did we ever think that raising cows and breeding them for profit was a respectable business when we knew, whether we thought about it or not, that their life was never their own and that what we were, was slave owners. Slavery has been transposed to modern-day animal agriculture.
Renee and Tommy and friends...
The vegan fairy tale of a rancher’s wife that started naming and loving
the cows they were sending to slaughter is anything but a non-fiction
fantasy. It’s been a joyride, a psychological thriller and one of the most
edgy transitions that I’ve ever made in the span of my almost 59 years on
this planet.
Who would have ever thought that a multi-generational Texas Rancher would
start eating plants and liked the way he felt so much that he stopped eating
meat. I was the rancher’s wife that went vegan and I was indoctrinating him
with every plant based documentary I could find because the word vegan would
turn him off every time. On a mission, I persisted. When I stumbled upon
Forks Over Knives, that’s all it took. The China Study along
with So Delicious Ice Cream finally took him over that edge, and together we
awoke to a way of thinking and being that is changing hearts and minds
across the world. Tommy lost 40 pounds and his activism is profoundly
touching the lives of everyday farmers, ranchers and good ole boys in our
Brazoria County, Texas backdrop.
On Oct 31, 2014, I went vegan. The moment that I slipped down the “rabbit
hole” of no return is palpable. To say, I’m forever changed by my decision
to forego my loyalty to my husband’s heritage, in favor of the compassion
and utter revulsion I was now having at this juncture is a lukewarm
descriptive. No one on the planet that I know of has ever done such a
thing—and if they have—come forward, we need to talk!
This month marks my two-year vegan anniversary and I recall with detail, my
feelings, rants, joys and obstacles that I encountered as I began to
navigate a territory in my mind that had never been explored. I felt like a
pioneer on unnavigated terrain, and I was. There’s a quote I recall from the
Bible (John 14:2) that says; “In my Father’s house are many
mansions. And if not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place
for you”?
Whether you are a Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, Taoist, Hindu or Atheist
is not relevant. Divinity shows up in our humanity when we are ready to step
into our calling and be the voice for our purpose instead of a voice for
ourselves, our little plans and designs. When I took that step, I landed in
a house I had never known, and it was all just a thought away.
Being married to my husband who I love and respect dearly is what catapulted
me over the rainbow that landed me slap, dab in the middle of “true love”!
The “end of the rainbow” I was always looking for but never able to find was
veganism. I had found my mansion.
When my husband and I remarried for the 2nd time, I was a top producing
realtor in a prominent subdivision in Pearland, Texas. I was an expert
buyer’s agent in a 4000-acre master planned community, and I thought I had
“arrived.” Earning a 6-figure income was easy—I had found my financial niche
in the world and Tommy and I were ready to bring our lives back together
again for the 2nd time. He had acquired a 96-acre beef cattle ranch 40 miles
southwest of Shadow Creek Ranch, and I was living in a 3500-sq. foot home in
one of the most prestigious areas of the development. I was sharing space
with my broker and friend Sherry, saving money to build my own home in
Shadow Creek. The tug of war began. Tommy wanted me to move to the ranch and
I wanted him to sell out and move to Pearland. He wasn’t having it. The
thought of living in an upscale subdivision made him cringe. His remedy was
for us to have two homes but I couldn’t stand the thought of that, so after
much deliberation I relented and moved to the ranch.
If you’ve ever heard of “Green Acres,” then you might get a visual and a
feeling of how I felt when my high heel pumps and 3-piece suits moved in
with Tommy and the cows. There was a rocky driveway that broke my heels and
after a couple months it was obvious that I was not going to be working as a
realtor in Pearland. The ranch sucked me in. I was used to slick concrete
driveways, a reason to wear a $200 suit and a clean, shiny sedan—I had a
Buick Enclave at the time, and it was spotless. There was no reason for any
of that at the ranch, so I found myself wearing mud boots, jeans—and my
Buick, well I sold it and bought a bright yellow Volkswagen.
Backtracking here is relevant for you to know that I spent the better part
of half my life as a practicing yogini and yoga teacher. I had perfected the
art of yoga, meditation and observation. The story of how and when I became
a yoga teacher and holistic wellness practitioner is a story for another
article but suffice it to say, I’m an avid student and teacher and have
spent about 30 years of my life steeped in the Yogic and Ayurvedic
traditions. Ten day silent retreats at yoga ashrams were my holiday—yes, I
revel in silence.
Having said that, I began to notice with deep reverence the cows—where
before I had ignored them. Their presence was always obvious but my
connection to them as beings worthy of my love and respect was void. My
yogic mind was exploring and observing in the background of my awareness.
Behind the scenes of my constructed reality, another reality began to
emerge. Scenes of cows and their babies forever free—relaxed—content and
loved, started playing—and it wouldn’t stop. I found myself going in and out
of conscious awareness. One aspect of my mind knew that I had to be a loyal
rancher’s wife, and endure the suffering I experienced when the babies went
to the sale barn to be sold for slaughter—I had to be tough. The other facet
of my sensibilities didn’t know how I could ever endure such a life. I found
myself falling in love with these sentient beings, and in this house that
“my Father” created, there was only love—slaughterhouses didn’t exist.
Knowing the cows were there and caring about them were two entirely
different things. At the onset, I was very resistant to being a “rancher’s
wife.” I abhorred opening gates. Stepping in cow poop was not fun, and for
some reason I couldn’t bear to look the cows in the eyes. I avoided every
task that had anything to do with caring for the cows. I didn’t know then
that the reason I was so resistant was because of the “disconnect.” Some
folks can live their whole life raising, feeding and then slaughtering these
conscious beings without remorse because “it’s the way things have always
been done.” My husband was like that. It was family tradition and it was his
heritage. His grandfather and great grandfather had been ranchers. Their
ranching legacy dates to the late 1800s where his great grandpa used to
drive “cattle” from the open ranges in San Antonio, Texas all the way to
Houston, where he owned a large meat packing plant, aka, a slaughter house.
Tommy had it in his mind that he was going to turn me into a good “rancher’s
wife.” He wanted my participation and he got it when he told me about a
2-month-old calf who didn’t have a momma and asked me if I wanted to buy her
and care for her—that calf was Rowdy Girl. She is the reason that my heart
opened and my soul expanded to grasp the sacred ground of the bovine message
so that I could be a conduit for their story.
Figuratively, I went from Zsa Zsa Gabor to Elly Mae Clampett the day Rowdy
Girl became my daughter. She opened the forbidden portal and where there was
once cognitive dissonance, there was now profound and innocent love for all
of them. My entire being resonated to the sound of their heartbeat. For the
first time, their eyes met mine, and I did not look away – I welcomed their
sentience and my spirit merged with their calling. At that moment, their
voice became my own.
Bottle feeding Rowdy Girl gave me entrance to the mothers in the pasture
where they too were feeding their babies. Tears well up and deep grief
overtakes me as I envision those mommas and babies that were betrayed by us
for 6 years! It took me 6 years to break the looking glass that I had been
trained to see through. The reality beyond the veil is veganism—and it is a
life that has always been here waiting on me to wake up to their suffering
and my ignorance.
But waking up means shaking up years of belief systems that were never my
own. I really love these animals now. I see their soul and they see mine.
I’ve named every one of them and they know who they are when they are with
me. They know they can lay down with me in the pastures—that they can extend
their necks for an affectionate and very intimate neck rub. They know they
can lay their head in my lap, and I know that I can lean on them, lay back
and rest on their bosom. They know they are loved and they respond in kind.
They are the perfect dancing, yoga and meditation partners. Singing to them,
doing tree pose in their midst, and chanting while they chew their cud is a
vegan treasure trove of sacred experiences.
How did we ever think that loading up the babies and taking them to the
sale barn was ever “the right thing to do”? How did we ever think that the
wailing grief of all those momma’s crying for their stolen babies was
“normal”? How did we ever think that raising cows and breeding them for
profit was a respectable business when we knew, whether we thought about it
or not, that their life was never their own and that what we were, was slave
owners. Slavery has been transposed to modern-day animal agriculture.
On October 31, 2014, I went vegan after watching Melanie Joy’s video on
Carnism. Her video was the final straw that prepared my earthly body for
this new life. There is a segment that speaks of a family enjoying “beef
stew” until they find out that the main ingredient is “golden retriever,”
and they become mortified by the certainty that they are eating a dog
instead of a cow. In the story, the narrator pauses after their obvious
inability to eat their stew now that they “know” they’re eating a dog. After
some silence, she tells them that she is just kidding—that it is really a
cow that they are eating, but they still can’t finish their stew, because
the image of a golden retriever is in their mind and it opposes all of their
concepts regarding “food.”
That evening, I went to my mother-in-law’s house for a Halloween get
together with the family. Every Halloween we would go to her house, watch
the parade with all the kids dressed in their costumes and begging for
candy. Tommy’s sister, brother-in-law, nephews, nieces and their small
children were always there and it was a joyous occasion. That evening, my
mother-in-law was serving “beef stew”! I didn’t see meat; I saw floating
hacked up dead animal parts. For the first time in my life I called it out
on the carpet, and at that moment, I’ve never looked back.
The family was silenced by my bold declaration that there was “floating,
dead, hacked up, animal parts” in the bowl. They looked at me in disbelief
as if I had spoken an unpardonable sin. And, then I was told that I could
“pick it out”; but, there was no more “picking it out” for me. Everyone
resumed their jovial discussion and I went further down the rabbit hole, and
forever lost my way back to a belief system where we can love one animal but
eat another.
That, was almost two years ago, and as I reflect on the inception of my
journey as a rancher’s wife gone vegan, to the founder of Rowdy Girl
Sanctuary, I am indeed honored, humbled, and deeply grateful for this
revolution. Tommy and I almost divorced over this; my inability to withstand
his way of life threatened everything about him! It is a miracle our
marriage survived.
Today, he works 10-12 hours/day, almost every day at the sanctuary, and now
he’s vegan too. There’s another Bible verse that comes to my mind (1
Corinthians 3:15) “If any man’s work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss;
but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire.” My revolt tested every
fiber of his being, but we escaped the flames together, and we are on the
other side. Our relationship is very different. Today, I love opening gates,
and not only do I step in cow poop, I clean it up. I love how nature has
intervened and created a haven of refuge for not only these farm animals but
also for all the people that are coming from all over to experience
first-hand the depth and the beauty of these perceptive beings. Sanctuary
was here the whole time. The only thing that changed was my mind. And now,
nothing is the same.
There’s a Rowdy Girl and a Rowdy Guy in all of us—it’s time to get rowdy for
the animals!
Author Renee King-Sonnen, a native Houstonian, is the Executive Director and Founder of Rowdy Girl Sanctuary in Angleton, Texas. She remarried her husband Tommy Sonnen, a multi-generational cattle rancher in 2009 and moved to the ranch. She fell in love with farm animals, having no idea her life was about to transform. After witnessing time and again the baby calves going to the sale barn she became extremely depressed. In October 2014, she went vegan as a result and began researching factory farming and the compassionate alternative, farm sanctuaries. She desperately consulted with leaders in the vegan movement, determined to do whatever she could to create sanctuary out of what was once a beef cattle operation in the heart of cattle country.
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