Barbaro

Barbaro, the prize-winning race horse, was put down today after months of small successes and, ultimately, bigger failures. When I read the news, I was moved, and I might even say I was sad for the horse that I never met but who found a place in my heart.

Albeit a very strange association, whenever I hear of or see an animal dying (I’ve watched two dogs die this past year, one of them my own), I always recall my stint with vegetarianism. When my first dog died close to eight years ago, I decided to give up meat. It was always something I wanted to try. Although a very noble cause, for me it was not about any deep-rooted belief in the unnecessary dependency of humans on animals. I simply loved them and did not want them killed on my behalf. People always asked me why I gave up meat and when I told them that my dog was hit by a car, they looked at me oddly. I suppose it was a difficult connection to make, but in those brief moments when I pictured my Millie as road-kill, as a piece of dead meat lying on the side of the road, my stomach turned inside out. Some part of me felt as guilty as the car that side-swiped her and left her instantly and peacefully dead.

I am reading about Barbaro today. There are very detailed accounts of the surgeries he has suffered through, of the pins and casts placed on his bones by qualified and highly-trained veterinary surgeons. He has been called “champion”, “hero”, and “fighter” in his obituaries. It is possible he was all of these things, but we will never know for sure because these labels imply that Barbaro the freedom to act on his wishes. Barbaro might have decided to forgo a life of competitive sport to instead run free in a field somewhere. He most certainly would not have chosen to undergo the long painful road he traveled over the last year. Yes, Barbaro was a hero, but simply because we made him our hero. He fought the fight we gave him and won the races we made him run. With our help, he slowly improved, and despite our help, he simply did not get well enough. He was put to sleep, a humane choice but, ultimately, one that was not his own.

Since my Millie died, my family has also lost her predecessor, Lillie. After suffering two weeks with inexplicable diarrhea, Lillie was no longer the dog we knew and adored. She could barely stand, she did not run to the door, and she did not bark. Our little guardian was tired. We were told by the doctor that she was suffering and so we decided to put Lillie to sleep, a decision I only wish we made sooner.

What becomes glaringly obvious is that we, humans, make all the decisions. I started eating meat again. It is my decision, one that I made when I realized I could no longer identify with the emotions that prompted me to stop in the first place. I also realize that it is completely my choice to love my dogs. I choose to bring them into my home and to cry when the void they leave behind is simply too deep to fill. Their fates, and the quality of their lives, rest in my fickle, selfish, calculating hands. Ultimately, the point is not to believe that that we are terrible hypocrites, undeserving of their love. It is simply remember the gift of our autonomy and the power we wield over these creatures who so wholeheartedly live our lives, accept our choices and make us believe that they are the lucky ones. The joke is very much on us.