What I Owe the Ones I Raise

Every animal here is loved. That’s not marketing. That’s a fact.

From the lapdogs to the livestock, I know every body that breathes on this land. I touch them when I can. I count them when I can’t. I watch for limps, labored breath, wounds, changes, shifts. My job as a steward is to see—even the things they can’t say.

And yes, sometimes I chase them around just to kiss their damn faces.
My chickens? They tolerate me only when I’m holding snacks. It’s a transactional relationship. They always let me almost catch them—just enough to break my heart and keep their dignity.
Free-range means free-willed. I respect it.

People joke that I’m the redneck Snow White, and honestly, they’re not wrong. When I step outside, I’m followed. Goats. Sheep. Turkeys. Chickens. A couple pigs on occasion. It’s funny—until you realize it’s also sacred.

This isn’t some idyllic fairy tale. I love them.
But I also eat meat.

And that means I carry a responsibility most people choose to ignore.

Harvest day is brutal. I’ve cried. Shaken. Fallen apart. And I’ll keep doing it—because if my animal doesn’t suffer, then I will. That’s the cost I pay so they don’t have to.

I don’t outsource my conscience to a shrink-wrapped package.
I don’t pretend a butcher makes it cleaner.
I don’t close my eyes and call it ethical.

Because love without sacrifice is just sentiment.
And meat without responsibility is cowardice.

I raise them. I know them. I walk them through their lives, and when it’s time—I make damn sure they don’t see it coming. Their last day is calm. Full of treats. Sunlight. Familiar hands. No fear. No panic. No pain. They go as gently as they lived.

That’s what I owe them.

This isn’t about being a vegetarian. This isn’t about optics. This is about ownership—of life, of death, of what it really means to feed yourself in a world that forgot what food even is.

So yes—I weep. I break. And then I cook something beautiful.
Because honoring their lives means not wasting a single part of them.

And maybe, just maybe, we’d all be better off if we stopped pretending this didn’t matter.