I was walking down to uni yesterday when I heard some hits and knocks that disturbed me. I looked over the bushes and I could see one of those cattle-lorries, heavily pushing on the brakes for the lights. The knocks no doubt came from within. No cries though. I looked up at the top of the lorry, I didn't know what it was at first, they were the ears of a cow poking out, its eyes staring at me too.
Cows are meant to move, yes, but by themselves. Instead we transport them crammed, in an uncomfortable truck with a hard cold surface slowly filling with excrements. They cannot move unless they are thrown about by the pull of the brakes, which topple them onto the floor, likely breaking a limb. Before we eat our mince pies tonight, think about it. We are eating a beast exploited, when we cannot allow that to man. A beast malnourished, eating fillers it gains no nutrition from. It is a beast broken, sad, cold and dying even before its dead. The bangs I heard walking down the street are not something we'd wish onto man, yet we are all beasts. A man exploited; malnourished; broken, sad, cold and dying is one worthy of a better life. Not a slash in the throat. We would not want to have our lungs filled up with our own blood and choke while thinking of the pain we have in our legs, broken on a journey we were forced to do, spreading with hypothermia.
Pause before you bite into that pie, I will.
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