Owl in The Suburbs of Sydney

This little guy just popped out of nowhere. Rather... He was always there... I just popped out of nowhere. 

Owl

Owl

As I've gotten older I have gotten more superstitious. I don't know why. I am allergic to whistling indoors, for example ("whistling up the wind" is one of those itonclad sailor taboos, plus I have a fondness for Russian culture and they do NOT whistle indoors). Seeing this mythical animal juxtaposed against such a pedestrian and suburban setting, bucolic though it may be- just makes me wonder- not think but wonder.

What Didn't Influence my Quirky Food Habit

So, if you've seen awful images and/or video of errant slaughterhouse practices (which do not represent practices I've witnessed first hand myself), no, the "shock and awe of animal mistreatment" is not one of the factors in my decision to annually give something up.

Ultimately, there is trace-element-ish crime in eating meat. As long as I elect to continue eating meat, I am responsible for this karmic-type offense. As long as I eat meat, I can't kid myself. Beef is frickin' cow. The animal is not just life support for its meat. It feels. For sure. And when it dies--I don't care how technologically sophisticated the kill room is, the animal will feel pain. The good ones make it momentary (measured in milliseconds), the bad ones botch it and often make a disgrace of the entire vocation and surely themselves.

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