Havre de Grace. -- All night long the Arctic wind rattled branches against the house, whistled in the chimney, shook the rabbits in their hutch and worried the dog. Deep in his bed under mounds of quilts the practical person stirred uneasily. The weather was putting his convictions to the test.
The afternoon before, as the light was starting to go and the wind acquired a bitter edge, he'd checked his livestock. Most of the cows and all the calves had been in the shed, well fed and already bedding down. They had all the shelter they'd need, and appeared entirely satisfied.
The horses were another story. They had a shed too, with hay in it, and had done fine there all winter long. But this afternoon they had had their eyes on the barn, and he had wondered if he ought to bring them in. In his mind, the practical person had run through the arguments for and against it.
It would be a little warmer in the barn, and certainly out of the wind. But all the horses had thick winter coats and would be fine in the shed. They might need a little less hay if they were inside, but they would also need bedding, and then their stalls would require cleaning in the morning. That would require time, and time is money. Right?
Two horses came in every night anyway -- a young racehorse in training who'd be going out for exercise early in the morning, and a companion. It wouldn't be a big deal to bring in the others as well. But no, the practical person had decided. They'll be all right. Leave 'em out.
He frequently lectured his children on the importance of not confusing animals with people. Don't think that just because you like being in a warm house with a woodstove, the livestock want the same thing, he'd say. They need food and shelter, same as you do, but they don't eat the same food or require the same shelter. Remember that.
He thought it important that farm kids, especially, not anthropomorphize domestic animals -- not cattle or hogs raised to be meat, not horses raised to be ridden, not even dogs and cats raised to be pets. These creatures may have some of the same feelings you do, he'd say, such as hunger and fear and a preference for comfort over discomfort, but that doesn't mean they're human.
His kids had learned a lot from the animals they'd known and helped care for, he thought. They knew how they were conceived, how they were born, how they died. But the outlook on the world exhibited by so many urban and suburban kids of their generation seemed pathetically naive and disconnected.
Even if they hadn't yet concluded that the rights protected by the Constitution of the United States should apply to animals too, many of these pale children ostentatiously declined to eat meat, and made it clear that in their choice of diet they were attempting a moral and political statement. In their fashionable leather shoes and jackets, they'd followed the anthropomorphic highway all the way to Vegetarian City.
So, tough-mindedly, the practical person had carried hay to the horses and left them out in their shed. Sometimes he wondered why he kept them around at all. Several of them in particular had long since outlived their usefulness. They had been wonderful in their day, but they weren't earning their board any more, and he knew they'd each bring a few hundred dollars if he took them up to the Lancaster stockyards. But he was too weak and soft to do that.
All that night the wind blew, and the guilt virus made its poisonous way through his system. In the morning the horses were standing at the gate, and he gave them some extra grain when he brought them in.
That afternoon was just as wintry as the one before, perhaps even worse, and he folded. He brought them all in. Horses that hadn't spent the night in a stall in a year came into the barn, snorted, and marched to their feed tubs. Well, he thought, with the barn all full it won't be as cold, and maybe the water buckets won't freeze so hard.
Now the practical person knew, perfectly well, that a warm steamy barn is generally less healthy for livestock than a cold well-ventilated one. But his compassion overpowered his reason. Besides, it made him feel good to have them inside.
When he went to the barn that night he had to bend over against the wind. It was about 9 degrees outside the house. But in the barn, with all the heads looking expectantly at him, it was just under 30 and downright cozy. He gave them all another flake of hay, filled the water buckets, and went home to enjoy a self-satisfied sleep.
In the morning the ungrateful overnighters were stamping to be let out. Their stalls were filthy. The practical person sighed, and hoped they wouldn't spend any more nights inside. Deep in his conservative old heart, the liberal child who still lives there smiled smugly.
4( Peter A. Jay is a writer and farmer.