Growing up on a Dairy Farm, vol. 2: Getting too attached

Rule #1 for living on a farm: Don't get attached to the animals.

Those of you who know me well know that I'm not too terribly fond of animals. We've had our current dog for a year and a half or so, and I just really don't care for her. There's absolutely nothing wrong with this animal. She brings joy to my family. She's fairly well mannered. She's clean. She's a good ol' dog.
I just happen to care nothing for her. Honestly, if she got run over tomorrow, I'd have to fake cry in front of my children just to, well you know, seem human.
Don't get me wrong. I'm a loving person. I get attached to lots of things - trees, blue jeans, my children. So why am I so hard hearted toward animals? Well, here's my theory. And it's a good one, if I do say so myself.
I haven't always been so unfeeling toward creatures. There was a time when I adored my many pets, including cats, dogs, calves, insects, and yes, pigs.
For several years, my dad raised pigs. I didn't care for them much. They were dirty, smelly, and typically unfriendly. They ate our table scraps which seemed really gross, so I rarely paid them any attention. That is until my dad brought home two cute little red piglets. These little guys were not your typical pigs. They were clean, small, cute, and most importantly RED! I kid you not, it was love at first sight. My dad noticed my fondness and allowed me to name them. "Cherry" and "Strawberry" of course. What else could you name two adorable little red pigs?
Now, let it be known that my dad did not make us work on the farm much. We had some seasonal jobs, but nobody was waking us up at 5AM, nosiree.
I did, however, make sure these little guys were well taken care of. They were fed the best scraps from our table and were often visited. They were my pigs. My pets. My pals.
But, as you very well know, we were raising my "pals" for a purpose. I, like Fern, was unaware that these pigs would one day be someone's breakfast. I'm sure my dad knew of my fondness for the pigs. How could he not? As he anticipated the day of the pigs' demise, surely he thought about how best to handle this tough lesson. A heart to heart about the purpose of animals? Maybe some new piglets to replace those lost? Was he wrestling with these thoughts? Was my dad losing sleep over my impending heartache? Well, come to find out, no. He didn't give a rip.
The fateful day came in the form of a routine trip to the slaughter house in Knoxville. As my sisters and I wedged ourselves into my dad's truck, I was excited. A trip to Lay's meant cash in my dad's pocket and Krystal burgers on the way home. Yippee! "Let's get goin'," I thought. "I'm hungry!"
As we drove away from the farm, I happened to peek in the back of the truck. The pigs were wedged tightly together. Dirty, smelly, yucky old slop eating pigs. But, wait. Hold on second. What's that red I see? It couldn't be. But, it is! "Daddy, what's goin' on? What are Cherry and Strawberry doing back there?" I waited for his reply. Some words to explain why my pigs could possibly be accompanying us to a place they should never go. I can't really recall my dad's response, but I'm sure that he looked at me like I was nutso and said something like "Well, what d'ya think? They're goin' to Lay's with the rest of 'em."
I'll never forget the sights and smells of that place. You could actually see dead pigs hanging from hooks as they traveled through an enclosed passage that went over the road from one part of the plant to another.
As I think back on this moment, I realize that it changed me forever. Never again have I felt strongly for an animal. So there. The next time you see my dog nudge me for a little affectionate petting and I callously push it away, you won't judge me. You'll think of Cherry and Strawberry. And, oh yeah, if you ever cook breakfast for me, if you could kindly leave certain proteins off the menu, I'd be ever so grateful.