Grateful to Eat Meat

I am grateful to eat meat, to consume the flesh of an animal that was once alive. I consider myself quite lucky to claim membership to what became the dominant species on earth. I find myself even luckier that I was born in a period in which we irrefutably were. My ancestors risked life and limb for the roaming animals. Now, I roam refrigerated isles and animals come in parcels and pieces. I eat beef without seeing the cow. I eat pork without hearing the oink. I consume meat without understanding death. I do not know what it’s like to hunt and moreover, to be hunted. I do not know the creatures’ final moments before the slaughter. I do know the joy, the carnal and primal elation of meat consumption. At the expense of an animal’s life, I derive great joy. Meat tastes good, divinely so. And I should enjoy it, every cut and bite.

In death, there is no life. However, the animal’s dying does keep me living. I like eating meat. I also like living. I happily live on because something unfortunately does not. The animal does not sacrifice its life for my benefit; I take it. Eating meat is a reminder; that by eating meat, I experience the privilege to feel happy and its precedent, to be alive. I am grateful for that.

I am grateful to eat meat.