A Tale of Two Cities
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”
- Charles Dickens
Last year I had the incredible opportunity to travel to India. When a friend invites you to meet folks across the world and immerse yourself in new culture by attending a lovely three-day wedding, you say YES!
Our final day was packed. We began early with a ‘Mumbai by Dawn’ tour. It was brilliant. As we were walking away from our final stop, we came upon a small truck packed with birds. The chickens were waiting outside a low slung, nondescript building. It hit me that they were living the final few minutes of their lives, waiting to enter the structure to die.
Just a few months prior, I’d taken in three survivors from a bankrupt farm.
Rosie, Opal and Beatrice were at the front of my mind as I approached the dirty truck. The birds inside were the same age as my girls at home—just babies.
What would these individuals’ names be if their circumstances were different, if they weren’t destined for an unnecessary and untimely end?
My friends made a wide circle away from the scene. I however—in a move that I wouldn’t have been willing/able to make not too long ago—approached the truck. The birds inside seemed distraught. Sad. I would argue they knew their fate and had, likely, accepted it. In spite of the horrific conditions, they were beautiful.
I couldn’t help but think how I could support them in having the lives they deserve, if only given the chance…
However, fate had already spoken. There was nothing I could do except to offer a bit of kindness. I’m grateful that this was my instinct rather than to turn away and shield myself from the pain. I’m grateful that we had a few moments together.
I whispered to the birds that it was almost over. I whispered to them that they were loved. I told them they were brave and strong.
Turning away from the truck, my friends were waiting for me. I felt a sense of melancholy but also a sense of calm. I had done the right thing by stopping. Too many of us have looked away for far too long.
This impromptu vigil led to an interesting moment later in the day.
Riding through the busy streets in a taxi, my travel companion (and close, longtime friend) began to cry. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was thinking about the chickens. I imagine, for her, this experience was an interesting cap on the trip. Not a vegan, my friend had not eaten meat all week.
This morning, as I write in Bloomington Indiana, I hear my girls outside. Bea, Rose and Opal— since joined by their new sisters Jane and Hattie— are pecking around, finding bits of food and constantly communicating with each another. They are living the lives they deserve, safe and loved.
We have been born into a deeply damaged world. It is our job, when we are ready, not to look away.
*To be incredibly direct and clear, not for one second am I suggesting that India is somehow more cruel or culpable that the country where I live. Our world is deeply speciesist; every country plays their part in animal agriculture. India is a beautiful country and I feel so fortunate to have spent this time with wonderful, welcoming people.
