When I was a boy growing up on a farm, once a year when it was cold enough, we killed hogs. At other times, cold or not, my Granny would kill chickens.
These days, to protect the sensibilities of those now removed from farm living, and who are uncomfortable with the fact that the meat on their plate comes from once living, breathing animals, the word “kill” is being replaced by goofy euphemisms.
Most folks now don’t kill chickens, they “process” them.
Sounds much less violent wouldn’t you agree? Of course it also sounds kind of technical, mechanical and sterile. But at least we can avoid that upleasant “k” word.
There is a group of suburbanite Navy retirees who have been coming to hunt deer on our farm every season for years. They’re nice guys. Last year one of them told me how many deer they had “harvested.”
Maybe I’m being too metaphysical about this, but it seems to me that we’re in a state of denial about killing. So farm animals aren’t killed. Whatever is done to them is something else.
Please stop for a moment and look at the death and killing that surrounds us daily. Take a deep breath. Imagine that nothing is killed, no creature’s life is extinguished, except for good.
If “killing” was never bad, we wouldn’t hide from the word. Would we?