I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about becoming a vegetarian. Thinking, mind you. Not doing too much about it.
I just wonder whether I should be eating something with a face. I mean, I am horrified at the idea of someone eating dog or cat. Yet, how different is that than eating a cow?
And the reality is, I would never be able to go out and hunt, kill, gut and cook my own cow. (If I had to do that, I would definitely be a vegetarian.)
My better half wants no part of this vegetarian nonsense. As a compromise, and for health reasons, I have been trying to make one vegetarian dinner a week.
It usually goes someting like this:
I tell Ron I’m making a vegetarian dinner. He sits down to said dinner. Looks at his plate. And says, “Where’s the meat?”
We were at the supermarket last night when I raised the issue again (we were walking past the meat selection):
ME: Do you think you could ever become a vegetarian?
RON: No.
ME: You really couldn’t go meatless?
RON: No.
ME: What if we lived on a desert island, with no supermarkets?
RON: Are there any four-legged things running around?
ME: No. It’s just you, me, Buster & Biggie and fruits, vegetables and nuts.
RON: Buster and Biggie?
At this point, I hear him chuckle. I stop walking, and turn around and look at my husband. And he says “Buster, mmmm” and PRETENDS THAT HE’S PICKING HIS TEETH!!! HE WOULD EAT MY DOGS RATHER THAN GO VEGETARIAN!
You have to admit. That is a dedicated meat eater.
There’s not even that much meat on those dogs.
Photo credit: Kirk McKoy / Los Angeles Times
