Of Being the Hypocrite

I am happily waiting for the day when I will have a farm full of pet dogs, ponies, rabbits, and as many of these furry animals. Watching a dog wagging its’ tail or a bird thoroughly enjoying a mud-bath, and many of these tiny things, I could spend quite a lot of time with as much awe and adoration seeing them, everyday. On my way to work, once nearing the workplace, I see herds of cows, grown and small, walking on the road, scurrying away in frenzy to a safe corner across the road, while a flurry of vehicles surge past it. How the cows manage to emerge safe and unharmed, each time, surprises me. I do have a fondness for these creatures that grows each time I see them doing some trivial act in a state of unknowingness, maybe. This is the good, happy part.

              I have loved non-vegetarian food all my life, I have tried to imagine how the fish probably die after struggling to breathe for seconds, or the trembling carcass of a slaughtered goat, and wondered what gives me the ease with which I gorge on non-vegetarian food the next time, or whenever. If we were to have a pet, we’d thoroughly pamper it. But to see a dog limping on the road makes one probably just feel bad for it. I fail to understand how can I ever in a sane frame of mind, call myself an ‘animal lover’ with the spilling greed for non-vegetarian food. What if someone spoke of your pet using terms like ‘fresh’ or a sumptuous choice for a dish – would it make you want to smack your lips or look at him in disgust, and why?