CFIA Livestock Tracking Proposal

Maybe I’m naive but I like it when government agencies seek out the opinions of Canadians on pending or potential legislation.  It makes me feel like, well, like a citizen…a citizen in good standing who has an obligation to participate in the making of law, not just someone, who, by accident of birth, happened to be born on Canadian soil.  

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from the Stupid to the Sublime

It’s not often I encounter someone whose IQ is so low that I consider their existence to be a waste of space.  My definition of stupidity is:  “Stupidity is the unwillingness to learn” because I didn’t believe in “stupidity” per se.  In this particular case, I’d also add one of my favourite quotes by the poet John Donne:  “No man is an island…ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”  I’ll explain shortly why that last quote is so relevant to this rant by a livestock owner who is only at the top of the food chain by accident of birth or, um species, and certainly not for any other saving grace.  Note that the emotional, almost hysterical, tone adopted by this, um, writer is exactly what the pro slaughterers claim is what horse advocates indulge in…reminiscent of Anita Bryant or Pa Kettle (well, to be fair, Pa was thick but kind-hearted).  Hmm…read on and decide for yourself.  Then go on to read two responses, one from another farmer, and one from Animal Advocates of Michigan.

In answer to a politely written Letter to the Editor of farmanddairy.com located in Salem, Ohio, he writes:

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Listen up: this is Important

Listen up:  this is Important

Alex Atamanenko, honourable member of Parliament (MP) put forth Bill C-322 to the Parliament of Canada last week.  The Bill proposes to end horse slaughter on Canadian soil and to stop the export of horsemeat to foreign countries.  Why?  One:  horsemeat retains toxic drugs which are deadly to humans, especially children; two, the way in which horses are slaughtered in Canada is not only inhumane but also unsanitary.  Why should you care?  One: we export horsemeat to other countries (France, Belgium, Japan).  Horsemeat has been proven to be toxic to humans, especially children…so while you’ve set up monthly payments to provide for an underprivileged child in a foreign country, have you also ensured that that child is not being fed horsemeat?  Two:  would you put your dog down by bashing him over the head over and over again with a baseball bat?  If not, then go to the websites listed below to see how horses are “put down” before they’re rendered into meat in our country, in our country Canada…Canada, now known as the horse slaughter capital of North America.  

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Horse meat: A Deadly Mouthful

Horse meat:  A Deadly Mouthful

On ne mange pas son ami! shouted the citizenry of Montréal at a raucous demonstration held around Christmas time in 1759 after the Catholic Church had enjoined parishioners to eat their horses during a time when beef was scarce.  “One doesn’t eat one’s friends” arose from a set of rural values which held that your horse was essential to your livelihood as a farmer—as necessary to your survival as agrarian-friendly weather.  Still, traditional recipes passed down from one generation to the next show that at least some Québécois ate their horses, for whatever reason, at some point in Québec history.  In the early 1950s, my own mother’s obstetrician ordered her to eat horsemeat to “enrich her blood”, the very lean meat considered a natural remedy for anaemia.  Today, proponents of horse slaughter for human consumption argue that horse meat is healthier for you than beef, and at the end of his life, a horse can serve yet another human purpose:  to feed the hungry.  

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They Shoot Horses, don’t they?

A few hours ago, I returned from…bowling.  Yes, you read right:  bowling.  To a second-wave feminist, an activist, a boomer who was going to change the world (again)–the type who threw linen over the lampshade and thought Pier 66 wicker was boss–the very idea of bowling was anathema.  Imagine renting used shoes–yes, wearing footwear probably full of fungi and other contractable foot disorders–to participate in a game once imaged in full crinoline skirts and innocuous suburban flirting, slinging a small ball against pins shaped like old coke bottles.  JMJ…preserve me! Eww!  Well…I had a blast!  Extremely friendly people, from all walks of life; of all ages; some extremely gifted at targeting even a single coke bottle standing in a remote corner, and others no better–and sometimes worse–than I was, just having fun, canoodling for seconds at a time, pressing the flesh with high-five’s (with nary a worry about germs, not an antibacterial in sight), and enjoying a two-hour reprieve from daily life and its many burdens.  Even five years ago, if you’d told me I’d be bowling, I’d have laughed (ha!HAH!) in your face.  But the foreshadowing was receiving a gift sub to Reader’s Digest about five years ago. The woman who subbed to Vanity Fair, GQ, Vogue and Cosmopolitan now kept Reader’s Digest in the, um, restroom just as a, shall we say, quick and dirty read.

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