A tale of two tails

by Kyla Graham

November 11, 2006

Close up of Indira's tail. Close up of Jessie's tail.

Indira (left, of course), Kyla’s rescued greyhound, and her healed tail. Jessie, a Lighthouse Farm sheep, shows off his tail.

My dog was hurting, and it was my fault. Before getting out of the car, I had rolled up the windows. Unfortunately, I had rolled up one of the back windows right on Indira’s tail. She panicked, of course, and pulled violently away. By the time I got the window rolled down, she was already dripping blood.

Horrified by what I had inadvertently done and worried that I had broken her tail, as well as cutting it, I jumped back in the car and drove her to the emergency vet clinic. Six stitches and several hundred dollars later, we went home with the vet’s assurances that her tail was going to be okay.

This incident stirred up a lot of thoughts and feelings, as you can imagine. First and foremost, immense guilt. I felt horrible. I love my dog. She is part of my family, and as such, I would never intentionally cause her pain.

The more I began thinking about it though, the more I wondered why we draw a line between “pets” and “other animals”. In the face of Indira’s obvious pain, I couldn’t imagine infliciting that on any animal. Why is it okay for me to take my dog to the vet and lavish her with guilt-ridden, post-accident attention and treats, but if she had been a sheep, her tail would have been cut off, or docked, with no pain medication?

When the vet asked me if I would like to purchase additonal pain medication to get Indira through the next few days, I had a sudden, chilling thought—I realized that people must walk out of there all the time without pain medication for their pets! If I had just gone through surgery or some other traumatic and painful event, I would not want my pain medication to be optional.

I have been vegetarian for ten years, but I haven’t thought much about my decision to go vegetarian for quite awhile. It has become much like breathing—it’s automatic. But now, when people ask me why I am vegetarian, I will think back to the day I hurt my dog. Accidents happen, and eventually my guilt mellowed a bit, but I can’t forget that one vivid memory of her pained yelp and the way she hunched protectively over her tail.

So go ahead—ask me why I’m vegetarian.

My answer? Because animals feel.