The sweet taste of denial

Remember back in October 2007 when I wrote about a “Mobile Meat Dressing” truck? Remember how someone had to explain to me that it was a butchering truck that would come to your pasture or otherwise deal with your ‘fresh kill’? Remember how I waxed on about the sign for a nearby business offering this unsightly service?

Just when I think I’m becoming a country-fied yokel, wise to the ways of rural livin’… guess what service I regrettably sighted today?

There I was, just be-bopping along on my way to the gym, enjoying the sporadic sunshine and pleasing array of livestock grazing amongst the trees. I came up to the crest of a hill, said hello to The Broken Eared Llama, and casually glanced across to the neighboring pasture which is usually populated with a whole bunch of black cows.

Well, this morning there was just one cow. A posthumous cow. It was still intact, mostly, but was in a form and position I have never seen a cow before. I could describe the scene in vivid detail because, well, the sight is etched into my delicate suburban-raised brain forever and ever. But I really don’t want to commit the memory to virtual paper. You’re welcome.

As I drove the rest of the way into town, I seriously weighed the effort it would take to become a vegetarian. I wondered how Rob would react to having to singularly finish off the burgers and steaks and hot dogs stocked in the freezer. I pondered what veggies a hearty Cabernet Sauvignon would work well with. Then I remembered with a jolt: Oh, yeah, I love meat.

So, with a skillfully honed ability to take unpleasantness and put it in a little box in my brain, I added skinned cow on a rack to cross-eyed back pain, living in the shadow of an active volcano, and current IRA balance... and enjoyed a nice tasty burger for dinner. Mmmm.