When I was 13, my parents let me join the 4-H club, because they knew I loved animals. I went to a 4-H farm where kids raised cows, pigs, goats, and sheep to show at the local fair. After the fair, most of the animals were sent to auction and from there, the slaughterhouse. I’ve seen 6-year-olds bawling their eyes out after sending their friends off to be killed.
My cow was a Scottish highland named Beatrice with red, shaggy hair and long horns. She didn’t trust me at first. Every day, I sat near her in the field and spoke softly to her. Before long, she let me pet her and then began greeting me with a wet nuzzle.
I was so relieved when the farm manager told me that Beatrice would be kept for breeding and not slaughtered.
For three years, Beatrice won Grand Champion at the fair. She wouldn’t let others touch her, but she would do anything for me. I tried not to think about the other kids who had to sell their animals to the slaughterhouse.
Then, the farm hired a new manager. Kurt liked to remind kids that their animals were going to be killed. He thought kids should have to watch the animals die because “it’s a fact of life.” Kurt hated me because he knew Beatrice was safe. His chance came when the farm decided that Beatrice would be sold because animals with horns were “dangerous.”
My family decided that we would buy her at the auction, but I wasn’t counting on Kurt. “I’m going to buy your cow, and then I’m going to kill her and eat her,” he threatened. And he was right. He outbid us at the auction and Beatrice was his.
Weeks passed and Beatrice stayed on the farm. I convinced myself that Kurt didn’t really mean what he had said. One day, I overheard someone talking: “There’s a Scottish highland cow down at the slaughterhouse,” they said. “They were going to kill her today, but the hoist and shackle broke.”
I thought I was going to faint. It was Beatrice! Crying hysterically, I called PETA and talked to the Vegetarian Campaign coordinator. “Get down to that slaughterhouse right away,” she said. “Tell the workers you’ll buy her—just get her!”
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| Beatrice loves to munch on cornstalks at her new home. |
My mother and I hopped in the car and sped to the slaughterhouse. I saw Beatrice in a pen. “There’s been a mistake,” I said as I slipped a halter over her head. “This is my cow. She isn’t supposed to be here.”
I thought I was going to get away with it until a woman burst out of the building with a shotgun. “Get away from that cow! I’m calling the police!”
I ran, pulling Beatrice behind me. My mother followed in the car. The only place I could think of was a ranch four miles away! Miraculously, we made it; we let Beatrice loose in a back field and drove home. Minutes later, the phone rang. “I know you’ve got my cow,” Kurt screamed. “I’m gonna kill her and you if you don’t give me $500!”
Luckily, the money from PETA was already on its way. Soon, it was all over. Beatrice had a new home at a sanctuary for cows. She will be safe there for the rest of her life, and I visit her often.
As for me and my family, we became vegetarians after realizing what almost became of Beatrice, and we have since rescued other animals from the 4-H farm.
I wish schools would stop teaching kids that raising and killing animals is a “fact of life.” It isn’t—it’s a fact of death. Vegetarianism is a fact of life, like friendship, loyalty, and kindness. Every animal deserves to live and be loved. Just like your dog and cat. Just like Beatrice.
