Ironwoman joined me for dinner tonight. I prepared a venison roast and although she is almost vegetarian, Casey devours wild meat.I suppose the sport of hunting is environmentally and economically more sound that raising cattle for slaughter, and somehow poses less of a moral challenge for me. Still I find it far more difficult to dissociate the spirited wild animal from its bloody shank of muscle tissue on the bone.
Casey doesn’t. But then, she didn’t wash and prepare the roast. She didn’t trim the thin layer of fat from the sinew. She didn’t eat from the rare-cooked midsection of the cut, where blood trickled as I sliced through the meat.
I bet she didn’t even cry when she watched Bambi.
Neither did I, but I bet I would if I watched it today.
