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The Rise, Reality, and Ruins of Slaughter This process is a weekly occurrence, on a large farm such as mine, and something that I had become accustomed to. Goodbyes are seldom with the early morning roundup and herding onto the flatbed truck. While my family and friends were taken away, I continued to eat grains and corn from a large trough. I used to eat ground up cows until we began getting sick from it—mad cow disease. The fatter I was, the better I was treated. I would always wonder what would happen to everyone once they left the farm. Many of us died here due to stress, disease, and injuries, so it could not be any worse off the farm. I felt left out by always staying at this green pasture called home. I was 18 months old and ready to leave these depressing pastures of green grass and see if it is any brighter on the other side. I was pushed through the maze of wood and metal fences up a ramp and onto the flatbed truck. Several times I had gone from farm to farm on similar trucks but never rode it for this long. I stood on this truck for 100 miles. In the claustrophobic space on the flatbed tuck, I began to regret my previously curious nature about the world outside of my own. Oreo, my friend, was got sick and he did receive the help he needed because we were on the open road. When we pulled up to this massive warehouse with few windows, I wondered if this was the farm I was sold to: my new home. As we were being forced off the flatbed in a holding cell, I had to step over a “downer” (a cow that dies during transportation) and watch Sarah’s neck snap when she was pushed in to the metal fence by the following herd. We had some time to grasp where we were while the apathetic men and women around our holding cell continued their jobs emotionlessly. We only watched with mouths wide open as a sick friend of mine was lifted off the ground with a bulldozer and dropped onto other sick cows in a corner, waiting to die. In the opposite side of our holding cell was a door that led into the building. We were forced through this door into a single file path with cold metal fences on our immediate left and right. We were crammed in head to tail and had little room to breathe. When I was able to gasp for air, I inhaled like warm blood. The soothing moo’s I was accustomed to on the farms were nonexistent there, only the bloodcurdling, rapid, and frantic pleas for life that would tear at my heart for the next twenty minutes. As I watched #162 disappear behind the heavy steel door that separated the killing stall from the waiting chute, I began to feel this cold chill come over me. I soon felt this high-voltage electric shock on my rear which caused me to advance closer to that steel door. As my head was pressed against the cold metal I heard my friend desperately beg for his life followed by a quick, but loud pop. His pleading was silenced, only heavy chains were heard. The worker opened the door, shocked me again, and pushed into the “killing station”. I had no room to move. I was pleading for my life just as every cow that had come before me. I saw what was to become of me. The next eight minutes felt like the longest of my life. The entire procedure went in slow motion. The sounds from the machines tore away at bare bone, the sights of pools of blood and body parts dangled by chains from conveyor belts, and the odors of blood, skin, and uncovered flesh I embraced were inconceivably disturbing.
Approximate Word count = 2536
Approximate Pages = 10.1
(250 words per page double spaced)
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