Murder by the Masses

This morning, I went up to the third floor of our office building (it's a three storey structure) for my usual 10:00 o'clock cigarette break. There was the usual view from the top, the vacant field behind the building, the mammoth warehouse bordering it, and the expressway. The vacant field holds the most interest for me, always changing as the seasons come and go, and holding a few surprises every so often that I look. This time, the sight of a four foot long lizard amazed me, I named it Dragon.

Dragon was about to become "The Dragon", from a living, breathing monster to a mere reference in my memory. The reason? Mr. Goatherd. Who the heck is Mr. Goatherd? Well, he is the person seemingly assigned to look after the vacant field. I dubbed him so because, well, he has a herd of goats who gnaw and trample over the field of high grasses and brushes as they please. Mr. Goatherd had Dragon (soon to be The Dragon) hanging upside down by the tail, about ready to gut it open and presumably cook it. Poor Dragon was flailing and menacingly flicking its tongue at Mr. Goatherd in an apparent attempt at longevity, doubt if Mr. Goatherd would budge though. Just as Mr. Goatherd was about to literally stick it to Dragon, I extinguished my cigarette, flicked it and turned away. Bye bye Dragon.

*****

Now that got me thinking, sure I've killed lizards, but nothing that big. In fact, if a lizard that big were charging right at me while I was holding a baseball bat or a five iron, I'd more likely run away than take a swing at it. What a pussy!

Apparently, the larger they are, the harder it is to muster the courage to kill it. Personally, I've no problem killing off ants, flies, caterpillars and most likely anything smaller than a cockroach. Bigger animals, ranging in size from a mouse or a lizard to a full grown rat or giant toad, takes a bit more out of me. I'd have to draw my personal limit at animals the size of cats. Beyond that, I'd have to be in a really desperate situation to even contemplate such an act.

*****

Then, in a vulgar display of cowardice, I ate a hamburger for lunch. Something whose feature ingredient was formerly a mammal the size and weight of a compact car. A creature, given the above criteria for the limit of my capacity to kill, I can never slaughter on my own. Shame then, that I'm now enjoying a derivative of this creature, even having the gall to upsize to a double cheeseburger.

Guess in the old days, this would automatically disqualify me as a hunter and be relegated by the tribe to being a gatherer, huh? "Hey, you! Put down that spear and let that five-year old girl teach you how to gather berries, pussy!" If I had a farm, you'd probably see with a bunch of chickens, because all I can slaughter are their eggs. A new born chick, maybe, for really special occasions.

*****

In my defense, civilization and countless technological innovations over the centuries have molded me into the pansy I am today. What used to be a spear had been replaced by a can opener, and the knowledge and skill used to gut livestock displaced by reading instructions on the back of a box of chicken nuggets. Even the chore of cleaning market-bought fish has now taken a back seat to defrosting creamy dory fillets from the supermarket.

Mr. Goatherd has taught me a valuable lesson today, that's for sure. If I can't learn to kill and gut my own food, then I'd better make sure that I work my ass off getting rich enough to afford paying someone else do all that for me! That or I learn how to grow pick berries.