The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) (23 page)

I thought instead about what I’d learned about cognitive dissonance and the ways in which people rationalize eating animals. I thought maybe I’d see the other side of the argument. The lawyer in me, heck, the
human
in me, knew there were two sides, minimum, to every story. So what was the other side of the compassionate, vegan lifestyle? What was the argument? Was there a rationalization
for
killing and eating animals that made sense? Was there a right way to do it, as Leela suggested? I’d even picked up a book (of course I did!) specifically to see things from “the other side”—the side of the family farmer (there was no way the factory farm could ever be rationalized, and my days of reading about that had ended). I’d picked up
Folks, This Ain’t Normal
by Joel Salatin, the family farmer featured in the documentary
Food, Inc.
and the book
Omnivore’s Dilemma
.

Farmer Salatin makes a persuasive and careful argument for the family farm. And he even made me realize there are still some family farms. Food production hasn’t all been turned over to agribusiness that treats animals like mere parts in a compassionless production line where only profit matters, not health, not humanity, not even common decency. Heck, he even makes me think that if I knew my eggs, or chicken, or bacon was coming from his farm, I’d eat it. But just as quickly I
see
(in my tube-encased mind) the face of a chicken and a very adorable pig. So, uh, no, I wouldn’t eat them. Maybe the egg…if I knew that the chicken, like the chickens my mom had in her backyard, had lived a “normal” life with her beak and feet intact, able to spread her wings, socialize with other chickens, scratch, peck, and do what chickens do, then maybe I’d eat the egg that she laid without a human prompting her to do so, and without hormones or massive dosages of antibiotics. Maybe that egg I could eat. Maybe. And, I was pleased to note, Farmer Salatin railed against the machine that is agribusiness too.

His book made me want to raise chickens. Which I’m sure my homeowner’s association would love—as though my insistence on having beagles was not enough to permanently alienate my neighbors.

Maybe I’d find my tribe with him. With the family farmer. I had cheered (in my head) and answered, “Me too! I do!” out loud when I read his statements, like:

Whatever happened to the scientific precautionary principle? Apparently as a culture we quit paying attention to that principle long ago. We wade into this world of unpronounceable food additives like a bunch of swashbuckling pirates, looking for profits and stuffing our treasure chests with swelling medical and pharmaceutical millions to keep us alive while we destroy ourselves with concocted chemicals. Does anybody besides me think this is crazy?

But he started to lose me as a potential member of his tribe when he seemed to mock vegans and referred to them, to us, as animal
haters
, when nothing could be further from the truth. And he really lost me, an estate planning attorney, when he inaccurately explained our estate tax system—leaving out salient facts—in order to make a point. That, of course, caused me to wonder what other facts he might have been seeing through a different-colored lens than I would use. What other facts had been stretched to make a point or serve a purpose? He’d gotten me thinking, though, I’d give him that.

Maybe if food, including animal products, was produced in the manner Farmer Salatin did on his Polyface Farm, I’d be okay with that. His view was much the same as Leela had explained hers. For me, I doubted I’d ever eat animals again, but maybe I’d be more comfortable that others did eat animals. At least I’d be more comfortable if there was less torture of animals in the world. And maybe I’d wince less every time I looked at a menu that lured people in and fooled them with non-meaningful hyperbole like “grain-fed” or “free-range” labels that meant nothing and were in no way monitored, but allowed people to thoughtlessly eat the remains of tortured, mass-produced, drugged-up animals without guilt. (Or, um, I’m sorry—allowed them to rationalize and settle their cognitive dissonance.) But that just wasn’t happening. The vast majority of our food was still borne of torture. So while I liked his ideal, I was not joining his tribe.

He did give me one idea, though.

Once again I plotted from inside an MRI tube. This time it wasn’t a blog I was planning. No, this time, I was going to visit a farm. In Los Angeles.

Planning my farm visit was preferable to thinking about my MRI results. I’d get those results when I got them, and I just couldn’t bring myself to worry about it. I was feeling confident that I had my restless brain settled down. I’d confined my reading to books that gave me constructive suggestions, like
Living
Cruelty
Free: Live a More Compassionate Lifestyle
and Sara Gilbert’s
The
Imperfect
Environmentalist.
(Yes, vegans care about the environment too. We and the animals live in it after all; oh, and yes,
that
Sara Gilbert, the one from
Roseanne
and
The
Big
Bang
Theory
, and, you know, earth.) Most importantly,
Farm
Sanctuary
by Gene Baur. Turned out there was a Farm Sanctuary right outside Los Angeles, and not far from The Gentle Barn, which I’d learned about from my vegan Facebook and Twitter friends who, apparently, all learned about it from Ellen DeGeneres. So I’d be going to not just one but two farms outside L.A., but obviously not
too
outside L.A.

I found The Gentle Barn’s website and read that they did private tours for four hundred dollars, which I figured wasn’t bad if I could get nine other people to join me. Forty dollars per person seemed reasonable. The private tour appealed to me because while I love animals, I abhor humans acting like animals…which they tend to do in crowds.

While the public group tours of The Gentle Barn and the Farm Sanctuary were not likely to involve drinking or revelry or any of those things that make me uncomfortable in large groups, it was likely to involve crowds, since they were open to the public only on Sundays. It was also likely to involve children—what with its emphasis on interaction with animals as a way of teaching children. And truth be told, if I could avoid children that weren’t related to me, I’d prefer to—especially when I wanted to learn from and talk to the people who worked at The Gentle Barn. No way were they going to prefer talking to me over some impressionable, wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked vegan in the making.

Alas, I could not find nine other people willing to drive seventy miles and spend forty dollars getting a tour they could get for ten dollars if we just put up with really short, cute people. Dang these vegans and their compassion for all creatures.

Leela once again agreed to journey on the adventure with me, game to meet the animals herself. Another Beaglefester and vegan, Karal, also met us at The Gentle Barn. And Michelle, an animal-loving, vegan-curious friend from Riverside, agreed to drive out with me. Michelle’s sister and, ironically, her two children, also joined us.

The day was filled with nostalgia for me. First, because The Gentle Barn is in Santa Clarita, formerly known to me as “the place out by Magic Mountain.” As a kid I lived, for a time, in Sylmar, not too far from Magic Mountain…I mean, Santa Clarita. We lived off a dirt road, rode our horses through pomegranate fields, and had an acre of olive trees where the dogs (and the kids) could run about. When we lived in Sylmar we had horses, dogs, cats, hamsters, and a parrot.

And I hated it.

I believed my preteen self to be a sophisticated city girl, and I’d been dragged out of North Hollywood under protest. North Hollywood was neither sophisticated nor a city (a suburb, sure), but try telling that to a precocious eight-year-old who preferred dresses, libraries, and shopping to…well, to Sylmar. I hated getting dirty (though had no trouble leaving my room a mess) and spent most of my time either earning every possible Girl Scout badge or huddled in the library waiting to be old enough to leave cowboy town for the more glamorous life I knew must exist somewhere. That escape occurred only a few years later when we moved to La Habra Heights and traded olive trees for avocado trees, a dirt road for a paved, winding hilltop road, and a rural lifestyle for a middle-class suburban one. The horses, dogs, cats, hamster, and parrot came with us.

The other reason my day at the farms was nostalgic was that once I arrived at The Gentle Barn, much to my surprise the younger sister of one of my (now long-lost) best friends from junior high also joined us (she had seen my post on Facebook, of course!). Shelley had been the “kid sister” who tagged along or played with us at pool parties, Girl Scout events, or other sixth-grade and junior high outings, when we were so much cooler than anyone an entire eighteen months younger. And, ironically, I would always remember her dad as the chef whose poolside barbecues first made me enjoy steak in a way I never had before (or, now, ever would again). Just one of those random childhood memories I had after all these years, and then up walks Shelley, ready to meet cows with me.

We’d arrived early—very unusual for me—but such was my excitement. Scores of volunteers were also arriving, in their green Gentle Barn–logo’d T-shirt and hoodies. I was impressed with how many there were, but in thinking about it—what a wonderful way to spend a day. I could handle volunteer work that involved petting, talking to, and acting as bouncer and bodyguard to farm animals. I assumed the visitors would be respectful, curious folks who would have the best interests of the animals at heart. Otherwise, why be here? There was a sign out front (and I’d seen the same message on their website) asking that guests not bring any meat, poultry, dairy, or fish onto the premises out of respect for the animals. It was probably too much to ask that guests not wear leather either, but I’d worn my vegan boots and was carrying a vegan purse as well. (Sounds so much better than “faux leather” doesn’t it? Right. But it’s the same thing. And no, you can’t tell.)

They opened the gates promptly at ten and we streamed in with the growing crowd of visitors. Luckily for me (and the animals) The Gentle Barn is on six acres and visitors can disperse to the horse corrals, the cow barn, or the goat paddock before gathering again up a hill to a shaded seating area to meet and hear from the founder, Ellie Laks.

We headed to the cows first.

The volunteer at the gate to the cow area lets in a few people at a time to visit with and pet the four or five cows present. A volunteer stands with each cow to explain their story and, I’m sure, to assure that the visitors are respectful in their approach to the animals. Some of the cows are quite friendly. A large black-and-white cow was lying down, enjoying the sun. She willingly allowed us to stroke her face and her ample body, and she certainly seemed to enjoy a scratch behind the ears. Her caretaker told us her name was Crystal. She’d been taken from her mom and shoved in a veal crate, destined for slaughter at eight weeks old. When The Gentle Barn rescued her she was so weak and sick she could not stand. And now here she was, content in the sun, enjoying human companionship. Again I was struck by the capacity of animals for forgiveness. Just as Percival seems to have left behind his days in a cage, subjected to violent, painful procedures, and now enjoys fresh air, toys, sunshine, and time with his humans (Chris! Mostly Chris!), this cow had recovered enough to trust random strangers who approached her. I took a photo with her.

Another cow—a big, blond female named Buttercup—was not only comfortable letting us pet her, she began to lick our arms and even Karal’s face. Cow kisses are to be cherished, and we’d like to flatter ourselves, but it became obvious Buttercup was a fan of the coconut oil we all used as moisturizer (a vegan favorite, so no doubt Buttercup had become accustomed to seeking out the coconut-y vegan visitors). Buttercup had been rescued from a backyard butcher. She was pregnant at the time, but because she’d had so little care, her calf did not survive. However, with time and loving care, Buttercup had become, the volunteer told us, the foster mom to the rescued calves brought to The Gentle Barn.

Staying removed from the groups of humans and even the other cows, but looking a bit curious, was a red-and-white cow named Aretha. I approached her quietly and listened as the volunteer told me about Aretha. She was one of the newer rescues, and her spirit was still broken, though healing. She did not yet trust humans to be kind to her, so I did not reach out my hand to pet her. I just stood near and wished her well, looking in her big, beautiful sad eyes, with maybe just the smallest glimmer of hope.

We visited with the horses next. I bought a bag of carrots and found myself to be very popular with every horse and donkey as a result. My time in Sylmar had at least taught me the proper way to feed a horse without losing any fingers, and I’d also learned how horses, just like dogs, can have very distinct personalities. That was true of these horses as well. Some had been abused, not provided with proper shelter or food or water; some had been beaten, one was rescued from a backyard butcher (yes, butcher…of horses), and two were the babies of an unfortunate mare whose urine was used in the production of Premarin, a drug that women take in menopause and can only be made with the urine of a pregnant mare. The mare is prevented from moving and is hooked up to a catheter during her entire pregnancy. The babies are disposed of. These two, Lazar and his sister Zoe, were the lucky ones—saved and raised by The Gentle Barn. One of the donkeys, now happily taking carrots from all of us and gleefully lowering his head for a scratch behind his ears, had been beaten by his “owner” to near death. Donkeys freeze when frightened or in pain, and rather than understanding that behavior, the man had simply continued to beat Addison, this beautiful donkey now so friendly and full of personality.

The volunteers soon herded the human crowd up a hill to what was referred to as the “upper barnyard” for a group discussion with Ellie. I was interested in this discussion, but did not feel the need to hurry up the hill and grab a front row seat. This was not a day for rushing; this was a day for learning and contemplating. Besides, wherever I sat I could surely see over the heads of the numerous children in attendance.

When I got to the gathering area, I saw that the rush had been as much to grab a seat in the shade as it was to be front and center. I was content with a place in the sun.

Ellie was younger than I had expected, probably in her late thirties, with long brown hair and a smiling, happy demeanor. Being around all of these animals would make me happy too, but as she welcomed us and told the story of founding The Gentle Barn, I realized there was a heartbreaking side to her work too. I imagine that for every story of an animal they save, there were countless stories of the animals they couldn’t save, the ones that didn’t make it out alive. And even the animals she’d saved, the ones we were seeing in their rehabilitated state, had such cruel beginnings. Was she always this happy? Probably not, but the fact that she could rally herself day after day to stay in the fight for these animals was impressive. I surely had something to learn here.

Ellie told us her story—her lifetime love of animals, which she was not allowed to have as a child. She talked about respect for the animals and encouraged us all to get to know them, to see their personalities, their emotions, and the way they interact with us and each other. And she encouraged us to always respect the animals. I learned that The Gentle Barn works with inter-city kids, at-risk youth, children from group homes and mental health institutes, foster homes and schools, as Ellie said, “to teach them that even though we are all different on the outside, on the inside we are all the same and are deserving of the same rights, respects, and freedom.”

The groups of these children were brought to The Gentle Barn to interact with the animals and learn from them. The success of the programs—the rehabilitation of the kids in conjunction with the animals—is no doubt part of what had caught the attention of Ellen DeGeneres and resulted in her featuring Ellie and The Gentle Barn on
The
Ellen
Show
in an episode that apparently everyone but me had seen. Ellie ended her talk with a gentle, but enthusiastic and persuasive, bid for all to consider a plant-based diet for their health and for the sake of the animals and our environment.

Our group was then free to roam about the upper barnyard to visit with sheep, goats, pigs, chickens, turkeys, and even llamas. I wanted to do that too, but I also wanted to talk with Ellie. I had so many questions, and I’d precipitously decided she’d have the answers—all of them! Leela hung back with me. I put a donation in the jar for a colt, Worthy, who’d had surgery to fix a deformed leg, and I signed his “Get Well” card. Then, when the crowd cleared, I approached Ellie, and abruptly I was shy, awkward, and inarticulate. I was out of my league. She was so impressive and yet so humble, so…
real
.

“Hi. Um, so I have questions,” I muttered, ever so eloquently.

“Great! Let’s talk!”

For all she knew I was a kook, or a stalker-fan, or about to argue with her, spout off how people need animal protein, how animals are put on this earth to serve us, how bacon is
soooo
delicious, or any of the ridiculous, insulting, and vaguely threatening comments I’d been hearing myself. But still she was completely open to a conversation.

“I’m a breast cancer survivor, and I turned to a plant-based diet a little over a year ago—”

“Good for you!”

“Thank you. And I started reading up on it a lot, and I’m appalled by what we’ve done to animals, by how our food is produced.”

She was still smiling. “I know.”

Well, yes, of course she knew. She’d been rescuing the victims of our food production machine for a decade. So where was I going with this? I wanted to say, “How do you handle it all? Aren’t you having nightmares? Does your brain spasm too?” But my brain functioned well enough to decide not to sound
immediately
crazy. “I’m still learning a lot. That’s why I came here. Besides to visit with the animals. To talk to you.”

She motioned to a picnic table. “Let’s talk. Have a seat.”

She sat on one side and Leela and I on the other. Now was my chance—one-on-one with the leader of a tribe I thought I just might want to be a part of. If only I could be more articulate than, “So what’s the answer? What would become of cows and pigs and chickens, and all of them, if we just stopped eating them? Or using them? Don’t get me wrong, I think we should stop it all. Absolutely. I hate what I learned we’re doing to animals. But then I get stuck. We stop eating them, subjugating them, imprisoning them… Then what? Are cows and pigs just roaming freely? And chickens? Yikes! They seem so defenseless, so…bottom of the food chain.”