Mercy or Murder - The Flipside of Paradise

This is not a happy post. 

Reality, nature and life are cruel and while I'm completely at ease with the theoretical notion of this, I'm also a hypocrite. But let me elaborate. If we have met in person, you are likely to have suffered through my "food equality" speech. I am not vegetarian and I think if you do eat meat, you should not discriminate on the base of cuteness, adorableness, personal ick factor or anything else. In my opinion, if you are a carnivore, you owe it to all animals that give their life for food to eat them. The little piglet that ends up on your barbecue has the same desire and right to live as your beloved pet. I will try anything put in front of me, and while not everything is equally easy to eat, so far, I have been able to be true to my convictions, while going out of my way to avoid endangered species (different story all together). However, and here is where my hypocrisy sets in, while I will eat anything, I really really don't want to be involved in the killing process. Of anything. If I accidentally step on a bug or some other creepy crawly, I apologise for taking its life and say a little prayer. Even though I'm not religious, go figure. I feel bad about taking that life, although it belongs to a creature that I find utterly disgusting. If I find insects and spiders in my house, I will not kill them, but catch them, carry them outside and set them free. In my opinion, this helps me keep my karma clean. 

In 2013, I visited Iceland for the first time. I went to a rural place in the north to go riding. Late June and early July mark the breeding season for birds here, so there were adorable little fluffy chicks all over the place and suicidal bird parents threw themselves in the way of our horses to lure us away from their nests. In one instance, I wasn't quick enough to move my horse out of the way and rode over a fluffy little baby bird. Filled with terror, I jumped down from my horse to see if it was ok. It wasn't. I had injured it. In my opinion, the only right thing to do if you have injured a wild creature is to kill it to spare it having to starve to death, wait for a predator to find it and suffer pain. Half-blind with tears and panic, I couldn't think of anything else, so I stomped on it with force. It would have died immediately. 

While people around me confirmed that I had done the right thing, this little bird has haunted me ever since. When I took its little life, it took a part of my soul with it and I have been terribly ashamed of the way I did it. I wished that I hadn't stepped on it, but that I had been calm and strong enough to honour it by taking it into my hands and breaking its neck. Quick, painless, respectful. 

I haven't told this story to many people, because it makes me cry and I don't like to appear vulnerable.

As it's breeding season again and because I have never truly gotten over the story from three years ago, I make sure to inform all my guests to stay on the paths and look out for birds, of course leaving out the details of my personal experience. Yet, three days ago, after four days with great guests, great horses and lots of fun, history repeated itself. Towards the end of the tour, I changed my mind about the way I was going to take and chose the more scenic, yet slower route instead of taking the faster road. My reasons were that on day 1, one of my guests and I had gotten into a conflict based on a misunderstanding on the faster route and I didn't want her to relive that moment by taking her back to the same place, even though this group enjoyed a bit of speed.

So the scenic route we took. Wile we were tölting through the meadows, a little bird baby, too young to fly, hopped into the sheep trail in front of me. I quickly steered my horse out of it and shouted "baby chick" to my guests, but I was too late, so I stopped the group and jumped of my horse, hoping that the little guy had gotten away. It hadn't. It was injured, we had broken its little leg. I felt the same horror I had felt three years ago and wailed in desperation. I am still convinced that it is my duty to end a wild creature's life, if I have injured it. I wanted to honour this little bird more than his little cousin, hoping that it would give me a little more peace. I took it into my bare hands, where it was trying to flutter about and made tiny cheep cheep sounds. It was the softest, fluffiest little thing I have ever touched. I was crying this whole time and apologising to the birdie and I wanted to make it quick and painless, so I took the tiny little neck between my fingers and twisted. In my need and desperation to get this over with, I applied to much force and ended up severing the little head from the chick's body. I had no idea how fragile and delicate bird babies are. I flung both parts of the body in different directions and found myself sobbing in my guest's arms. 

I brought my group home and spent the rest of my day hiding my pain and tears from everyone else. In the evening, I drowned myself in half a bottle of red wine and finally put up the wall tattoos I had purchased a while ago. Two little birds for the two little lives I took plus a big one to take care of them, as they were to young to take care of themselves. I will eventually give them a whole flock to keep them company and I sincerely hope that none of the other stickers I put up will ever have to represent another animal I killed.

I do think that I did the right thing and that killing the little birds was an act of mercy. That doesn't make me feel any less awful. And it doesn't make me feel any better about my hands. My hands remember the fluffy, not quite feathery touch of the wriggling little chick. They remember the snapping of the neck and the tearing of the skin and tissue. While they were simply following orders from my brain, they were acutely aware of the tiny specks of blood on them, the horror with which I looked at them and the utter disbelief I felt when each of them was holding a different part of the little bird. I can no longer use them for many tasks. While they will still hold a fork, dress me and do work, I cannot bring myself to use them for things like applying lip gloss with the tip of my finger or eat anything with my fingers. I can't have them close to my mouth or any other orifice for that matter. I have the feeling that I have baby bird under my fingernails. No amount of washing and cleaning has made this better so far.

I know that I'm being unjust towards them. If you have some tips about how to reconcile them with me, I would greatly appreciate. If not, I hope that time will heal us.