Tuesday, March 19, 2013

A politically correct tale about a vegetarian

Once there was a vegetarian who had no ethical problem with eating a dead animal - one that had keeled over or been hit by a car or died of various 'natural' causes - but refused to eat the flesh and muscle of animals that had been birthed, confined and killed in factory farms. Instead they enjoyed a variety of delicious vegetarian cuisine, and the occasional free range egg or organic dairy products when they felt they needed a protein or iron boost.

One day they were walking home from the library where they worked, rather hungry, when they passed a house where some people were having a braai (barbeque). The smell of the sizzling onions and the fatty sausages dripping onto the gas flames filled the air and the vegetarian suddenly experienced an irresistable, unstopable pang of hunger that washed through them and left him or her trembling weakly in the thighs. They walked on but the smell walked on with them. The houses stopped and our vegetarian librarian staggered on, past the smallholding which was next to the cottage which he or she rented. There a small cow lay peacefully in the lucerene, ruminating on the meaning of life. Hardly chcking to see if she/he was being observed the vegetarian crawled through the strands of wire, came up to the cow, who knew him/her well and then, with only a brief apology, strangled the cow and ate almost half of it raw.

It was incomprehensible behaviour, but by the time it had passed and waves of nausea were setting in, it was too late. He/she stumbled home, washed the blood of their hands, burped, and felt strangely satiated.

But they never touched any meat again while they walked on this earth.