The Breaking of Bonds and the "Sad, Sorrowful Bellowing"

Kelly of easyVegan.info wrote a post titled "A cow is so much like a woman" the other day. She wrote much in relation to Jeff Masson's The Pig Who Sang to the Moon: The Emotional World of Farm Animals (yes, it did occur to me as I wrote that just now that I plugged Jeff Masson's newest book already earlier today--you can go a head and call it Jeff Masson day around here, I suppose), but she also wrote about some personal experiences that struck me. And they are worth sharing.

When we moved to Kansas, we managed to find a house for rent on 80 acres of land; our landlord inherited the place when her father died, rusty farm equipment, horses, cows and all. She lived just down the street, so she and her husband decided to fix the house up, rent it out, and keep the “beef cattle” operation going. When you think of a small, family farm, probably you imagine a farm similar to this place.

The acreage was divided into three large grazing pastures, as well as a smaller “holding pen” which shared a fenceline with our fenced-in backyard. After the calves were birthed, the mothers and their young were separated from the rest of the herd, confined to that smaller pen, supposedly so the males wouldn’t attack the youngsters, I guess. I used to spend hours playing with the dogs in the backyard, watching the mama cows nurse their babies. Many of the cows were accustomed to human interaction, so they’d usually watch me back. (The newborns, of course, were understandably skittish.) Some of the older cows took an interest in the dogs, and would come over and sniff at them as they ran (or, in Ralphie’s case, dug) along the fenceline. To say that they enjoyed playing together wouldn’t be a product of my silly, sentimental wimmin’s imagination.

Other times, when cows were sold (whether to other farmers or slaughter operations, I know not - I was afraid to ask), the unlucky “merchandise” was placed in the pen a day or two beforehand. Many times, the calves were the ones slated to be sold off; it wasn’t uncommon to see a dozen youngish calves sequestered in the pen together, all of them wailing for their mothers. Meanwhile, a dozen females might be gathered along the perimeter of the nearest pasture, bellowing right back at their babies, trying in vain to lure them back into their protective custody. This would go on for hours on end, with few breaks - even during the night. The scene dragged on - slowly, sadly - until the calves were ferried away; usually, you could still hear a few plaintive bellows days or weeks later.

And I was only an observer of the abuse, not a victim. I can only begin to imagine the depths of the grief suffered by the mothers and babies alike. It’s heart-wrenching. To this day, I can still recall - quite vividly, mind you - the sad, sorrowful bellowing.

We live in Missouri, now, and a cattle farmer rents the pasture on one side of our house. I don’t have the pleasure of watching the mothers with their children anymore; this herd is more wary of humans, and rightfully so. But I can tell when he’s separated the mothers from their children - during these days and weeks, the long, low, mournful, melancholy bellows echo up the valley and through the treeline.

If I weren’t already a vegan, these cries of despair surely would persuade me.

I ask that vegetarian readers please remember that this terrible breaking of bonds between mother and child on farms raising cattle for their flesh takes place in the dairy industry as well; indeed, the dairy industry is built on this breaking of bonds, over and over throughout the cow's life: you have to rip the calf away from his or her mother (and most often send that calf to almost immediate slaughter) if you want the mother's milk for yourself. What you've just read is just a much milder version of what cows exploited for dairy and calves killed for veal suffer. And whether we're inflicting this heartbreak and sorrow on animals for their flesh or for their milk, it's all just so wrong.

Photo courtesy of Kelly